


When the Sea Calls

by LexyRomanova



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 93,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexyRomanova/pseuds/LexyRomanova
Summary: "You didn't do it for me."He did. Deep inside, she knows he did.But God help her, if she acknowledges that fact now, she will never be able to follow through with this. Vane/Eleanor, Canon Divergent from XIV.





	1. Pillars of Sand

_One minute I held the key,_

_Next the walls were closed on me,_

_And I discovered that my castles stand,_

_Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand..._

* * *

_**Nassau, Bahamas** _

_**16 years ago** _

_"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins... Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice... Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you."_

_The big, heavy book closes._

_She knows what that means, and her tired eyes snap open._

_"Mama, **stay.** "_

_Her nimble fingers reach for her mother's arm, just as Caroline tries to get to her feet._

_A sympathetic look graces that familiar face._

_"Eleanor, it has been three hours... Mama needs to sleep too."_

_Shaking her head violently, the child grabs her arm with both hands now, her big, blue-green eyes glinting with unshed tears._

_"You can sleep here, mama. I don't want to be alone. Please?"_

_Setting the Bible on the bedside table, Caroline smiles at her._

_"You are a big girl now. Remember... Big girls need to be strong. One day, you will be the one reading this book. Teaching your own babies to be strong."_

_"I **don't**  want to teach."_

_Sighing softly, Caroline strokes her soft hair._

_"Mama, can I be little forever?"_

_"No, baby, you cannot."_

_"But I never want to grow up."_

_This time, Caroline is the one who feels the sting of tears in her eyes._

_Putting her arms around her little girl, she tries to recover._

_"How I wish you could stay forever this young... Forever in my arms, my baby girl, so safe, so warm, so sweet... **Unharmed**  by the world." A lump forms in her throat and she presses a kiss to Eleanor's temple. "Sadly, it is not possible."_

_The child jumps slightly in her arms when the door opens._

_The soft glow from the candle in his hand illuminates **his**  face._

_"Caroline."_

_Eleanor gasps, eyes filled with urgency as she stared at her mother's face._

_"Mama, don't leave."_

_There's a scoff from the man by the door, his voice lacking any tenderness or even sympathy. "For Christ's sake. Just leave her, I will go get Scott-"_

_"I don't want Scott, I want you, mama."_

_Looking from her daughter's face to the doorway, she takes a deep breath, hopeless and lost._

_"Richard..."_

_"No excuses, Caroline. She is six years old, this is ridiculous. If we do not take care of this needy behavior of hers now, what kind of adult will she become?"_

_"She is still so little, she needs us."_

_Coming over to the bed, he grabs a hold of his wife's arm._

_Their daughter lets out a heartbreaking cry when he practically yanks her mother away from her._

_"What she needs is **discipline.**  All this coddling will get her nowhere."_

_Caroline meets her eyes with an apologetic look on her face just before the door closes. With no candles to illuminate the room, darkness claims it immediately. And panic begins to set in._

_Eleanor hears it when the door is locked from the outside. She won't even be able to leave her room, to crawl into her parents' bed once they're asleep._

_She's trapped like an animal, and amongst all the fear taking her over, there's a twinge of a different feeling. A feeling still so foreign to her._ _She feels guilty, but whenever her father does this, she just wants to hit him. She wants him to disappear, to leave them alone._

_But he's her papa. She should love him, she should be grateful. Just as mama teaches her._

_Then **what**  is it she feels?_

_It's so confusing to her young mind. When papa is away, she misses him. She wishes he would spend more time with them. But when he's here..._

_He just **ruins**  everything._

_Throwing her covers aside, she jumps down from the bed and runs to one of the windows. Her hands shake as she opens the curtains._

_The moon is big tonight, round, and she's relieved when the light floods her room._

_She can see the ocean from here. It bothers her; the fact that they will move soon. She likes it here. But mama says it will be better in the new house, and she trusts mama._

_Still, she wishes they could just stay..._

_The ships sway in the distance and she rests her chin on her hand, big green eyes taking it all in._

_They fascinate her, the ships. She often dreams of sailing away, seeing the world, having an adventure..._

_She hears the sea, calling out for her._

_That call is still just as insistent as the years go by. Even though she can't see the ocean anymore, whenever she opens the curtains in the new house._

_She misses the ships so much._

_The comforting sight of the horizon, a promise of endless freedom and happiness._

_Of danger. It contrasts with the safety that the dry land represents._

_She misses the ships._

_She soon begins to learn; choose this safety above all else._

**_God, how she misses the ships._ **

_Most of all, she misses **her**  voice._

_Her calm, loving voice. Her bedtime stories. Her presence._ _She misses the comfort of her mother's arms._

_She will never see her again._

_Her mother is gone. Buried. And she's now learning how to keep her tears from coming._

_Still, every single night... When she's falling asleep, all she wants is for somebody to hold her safely._

_All she yearns for, all she needs is an embrace. Whatever comes closest to the love she once felt coming from Caroline._

_An **embrace,**  so she doesn't have to sleep alone._

_Simple as that._

* * *

**Present days**

Clothes are thrown aside carelessly, and every time her fingers touch those familiar muscles, tears burn in her eyes. She tries so hard to ignore what's to come, to pretend, just for now, that everything is okay. To enjoy this.

The last time she will ever feel him. Her plan is a dangerous one, a  _crazy_  one, but she has every intention of following through with it, of  _succeeding_. And once she does, their story will be buried just like her mother's bones.

She already had to say goodbye to him once, but this time it will be forever. And it feels as if her very soul is being triturated. It wasn't supposed to hurt this much.

_It's the only way._

She's so close to having everything she ever wanted, and this is nothing but a necessary sacrifice. She will get over it in no time.

Each time she repeats that mantra in her mind, it gets harder and harder to believe it.

Who would've known this bed could feel so comfortable.

He hovers above her, predatory eyes filled with adoration. It breaks her heart into a thousand pieces, and she doesn't think it will ever be possible to repair the damage.

His arms encircle her completely, sliding under her back. Her breasts press against his chest as he pulls her flush against his body. Her lips claim his again, and he's holding her so firmly.

Almost as if he thinks she will turn to sand and slip through his fingers at any time.

_He's not entirely wrong._

It seems to last forever. Eleanor prays it will be over soon, but when it finally ends she starts it all over again after a few short minutes.

The first time is tender. Loving, even though he did get aggressive sometimes.

The second time is her turn to leave marks and take the lead. His eyes remain glued to her face all the time as she rides him, nails scratching, digging into the skin of his chest and abdomen. Each time she does it, he squeezes her thighs in response.

After she collapses on top of him, trying hard to catch her breath, he gives her a few minutes. Goose bumps rise all over her arms as he strokes her back soothingly.

And without any sort of warning, he's suddenly surging forward, grabbing her and changing their position. A short sound of surprise leaves her lips as she finds herself on her back, her head near the foot of the bed.

The third time is probably one of the deepest experiences they've ever shared.

It's slow, gentle, so  _unlike_ them, but she doesn't have a word of complaint.

It feels as if he's seeing right through her. Like he's staring into her soul. It's uncomfortable, and she often distracts him by kissing his lips desperately.

_The third time makes her forget._

It's just  _them_ , their bond, their strong connection, different from everything she's ever felt before. It's just the pleasure, the intensity of this moment.

She forgets.

But when they're both lying there, trying to recover, harsh reality comes crashing over her again.

Night has fallen outside by now, and they don't bother moving to the right side of the bed. The glow from the fireplace illuminates his face, making his eyes so captivating as he stares at her. Like she's his treasure.

_God, she's going to **miss**  that look._

Clearing her throat, she breaks eye contact. "What are your plans from now on? That assuming you have any."

His chest rises as he heaves a sigh. Her fingers tighten in his hair. "I told you what my plans are."

She can't contain her scoff.

"No solid strategy whatsoever?"

Feeling him shrug, she rolls her eyes. He's not that idiot, she knows he's planning something. But apparently, he doesn't feel like sharing anything with her.

It's  _hopeless_. There's truly no way she can choose this path, no matter what she feels. No matter how scared she is.

On the other hand, something in her gut is telling her that if she follows through with her own plans tonight, she will be sealing her own death sentence.

She feels so much darkness. As if she's at the edge of a cliff, about to jump to her death.

_It's absurd._

" _Nothing_  is going to happen to us, alright?" Charles' voice brings her out of her thoughts and she forces herself to nod.

Even though she doesn't believe him at all.

His fingers caress her shoulder softly before weaving through her hair and massaging her scalp as she rests her head on his chest.

She has to close her eyes in order to keep her tears from flowing.

Their  _last_  quiet moment. The last time she will ever be this close to him. The last time she will ever feel his love, this thrilling, scary and exciting thing.

It's just like the sea, coming to think of it. And just like the sea, it calls to her. But she has long since learned to always chose the mainland.

The  _safe_  path.

He's being so good to her. So gentle. She has no doubt he'd do absolutely  _anything_  to keep her safe. But she can't just assume he will always succeed. This isn't a stupid fairy tale.

It's just such a huge risk; one she's not willing to take.

When his fingers finally go still, her heart sinks.

When his breathing turns even and deep, signaling he fell asleep, she wants to cry.

_It's time._

Time to say goodbye.

It will be forever. He won't be terrorizing the brothel to piss her off. He won't be around to give her those maddening looks. He won't be around to turn her world upside down.

He won't be around to be her source of comfort anymore.

She travels back in time for a moment, while trying to gather the courage to leave his embrace. This horrible feeling reminds her of all those times when her mother was forced to leave her alone at night. How she hated her father for taking Caroline away...

And now she's about to run to him. The promise of building something with that man gives her the courage she needs, and she locks those silly thoughts away.

_Thank God she tired him out tonight._

He hardly even stirs when she leaves his arms, then the bed.

Her eyes keep returning to him while she gets dressed, as silently as possible. It's like there's a lump in her throat, and she nearly gives up more times than she can count.

Her heart is drumming in her chest as she picks the key up, slowly. For a moment, it feels as if the metal is burning her skin.

When she walks past the bed, her blood turns to ice. A barely audible sound comes from him, his arm moving and prompting her to walk faster.

It was almost as if he was trying to reach for her, one last desperate attempt to keep her at his side, even while he's sound asleep. It's useless, and Eleanor successfully locks her emotions away as she closes the door slowly. One look at the corridors lets her know there's no one around, so she grabs the first torch she sees and begins the short journey to her destination, the path still clear in her memory. Her fear grows, but so does her confidence, her  _determination_ , and she picks up her pace.

Leaving her shredded heart behind, with the man she once called her lover.

* * *

Sweat trails down the valley of her breasts, and she's not sure if it's due to the suffocating heat or her intense anxiety. Probably a mix of both.

Adrenaline flows through her veins and she knows that once it passes, the pain in her hand will be so much worse. From what she could see of the wound, it was deep and large. Hopefully it won't get infected.

_Poetic; physical pain to match the profound sorrow tearing her soul apart..._

Her emotions try to get the best of her again, and once more, she pushes them to the back of her mind.

Whoever it is, he's coming  _fast_.

He's coming fast and if they get caught, she's sure her life will be at risk.

Her hand protests as she doubles her efforts, using all her strength. The gate starts to budge and at this point, her despair is so huge that she doesn't even think about all that dirt and rust rubbing against the gash on her palm.

She doesn't think about  _him_  either.

Her mind is focused solely on her goal, on getting out of here alive, while also keeping the girl unharmed in the process.

The glow from their mysterious pursuer's torch grows, illuminating the walls, just as they succeed in opening the old gate. It's far easier to close it again, but her hand feels as if it's on fire by now. Still, she never stops.

They're almost there. Their pursuer will probably see them but he won't be able to do anything.

Not with a locked gate between him and them-

_Her heart stops._

Wide, horror-filled eyes stare at him as he steps into their field of vision.

All the sorrow, all the guilt and regret she'd so successfully managed to ignore, come crashing over her again.

_The way he's looking at her._

It resembles the look he gave her once upon a time, a considerably simpler time, when she so bluntly declared that things between them were over.

That look of a lost puppy. A hurt little boy. As if she'd just crushed his whole world, when he least expected it.

He looks from her face to the key. The mix of emotions dancing in his eyes causes her heart to clench painfully.

_Confusion. Sadness. Indignation. Disbelief._

"I saved your life. I killed him, for you."

_God, she's a monster._

"Low and his crew. I killed them all. To protect you."

_What would her mother think?_

"You didn't do it for me."

He did. Deep inside, she  _knows_  he did.

But God help her, if she acknowledges that fact now, she will  _never_  be able to follow through with this.

It's such a scary truth, so she tries her very best to focus on her denial, to pretend things are different.

To pretend this man doesn't care for her, more than anyone else ever did.

_Except for her mother-_

"You will turn on absolutely anyone, won't you?"

It's not like that... He doesn't understand.

It's  _exactly_  like that.

"So what's the plan? Leave me to answer for this among the men? Assume they'll tear me to pieces for granting access to the woman who stole the girl out from under us?"

She doesn't give a shit what's going to happen to him. She  _doesn't_.

Her ability to lie to herself... she needs to use it,  _now more than ever_.

"My death sentence?"

Her skin crawls.

Will she see it? Will she see his dead body at some point?

Will she be able to take it?

_What on earth is she doing?_

"Listen to me clearly."

Her father, what would he have done? If he'd heard about Low's plans, would he have moved a finger to aid her? To save her life?

Would he have  _cared_ enough?

That lump forms in her throat again. She knows  _exactly_  what is the simple, short answer to those questions.

_But it doesn't mean a thing._

"Put down that key, walk back through that gate, return the girl, and I will sort this with the men. You have my word."

There's a gentle edge to his voice. She can't decode the look in his eyes, but it's far from hostile.

She can't even blink, this is the last time she will ever see him looking at her like that.

The temptation...

_You have my word._

He never lied to her. He never-

"But lock that gate and there is no walking back through it, ever."

The metaphor is so clear, and his face changes when he says those words. That familiar anger is back and hell, she's actually going to miss it too.

"And I assure you, you will hear from me again."

A shiver goes down her spine.

That unpleasant feeling in her gut grows stronger as her eyes widen a little.

It's safe to say she's never been afraid of this man before. It's safe to say she believes he would never step over the line. He would never cause her pain. He would never go past the point of no return...  _What_  is it, exactly?

_She doesn't want to find out._

Right now, standing here, with that key in her hands... Right now, staring him in the eyes after that threat, she feels afraid of him for the first time ever.

There's something screaming at her, pleading her,  _begging_  her to obey. To make that uncharacteristic choice, to give up.

It's not like her.

It's so  _not_  like her.

But this feeling is so strong, almost like an omen, a macabre presage, dark promises of the horror that awaits for her if she follows through with this. It's enough to make her tremble, the strongest wave of deja vu coming to drown her.

This is a foreboding, and she's felt it before, long ago.

His eyes drop to the key one more time. She moves her fingers nervously, staring at his face. Having some trouble breathing, she travels back in time again.

_Exactly the same feeling._

The same feeling she had when her mother told her to hide.

The same feeling she had while waiting patiently, scared, for Caroline to return.

The same feeling she had just before she saw her mama's dead body. Her  _destroyed_  body.

A gasp nearly leaves her lips but she chokes on it.

Right now, she's that little girl again. That terrified little girl, shrinking in her hiding spot and listening as those monsters tore her home to pieces. That little girl, crying silently and praying her mother was safe.

All she wanted was the comfort of feeling loved, of being safe and warm,  _and she would never see her mother again_. Never feel the embrace of someone who cared, someone who understood-

_God, what the fuck is she doing?_

A strangled sound leaves her lips, as if someone is tearing her soul out.

And then the key drops from hertrembling hand.

His eyes close for a brief second. And he wastes no time.

Frozen in place, she barely hears the girl's shaky pleas. The gate they had so much trouble with gives in easily under his strength.

It's like she's in another world. Everything is just so faint, but she's still aware of the commotion all around her.

A few men, she's not sure how many. There's heated arguing, a fight about to erupt, but she's trapped somewhere between the past and the present, between reality and her own private little world.

It's probably an emotional breakdown; the result of repressing feelings and lying to yourself for two entire decades.

The damage she caused to herself is catching up to her.

It could have been seconds.

It could have been hours.

All she knows is that when the fog in her brain clears, there are three men taking the girl away. And leaving them alone.

Regret comes as soon as she realizes what she did.

He has the key in his hands, and he's  _unharmed_ , staring at her.

No gentleness. No anger. No pleading look in his eyes anymore.

_Just icy coldness._

The adrenaline begins to die down, and she cradles her hand to her chest.

If she runs, he'll catch her.

If she screams, no one will come.

_What did she do?_

Still shaken from her breakdown, she flinches when he grabs a strong hold of her arm. His grip loosens a little, but it's still probably hard enough to bruise.

Swallowing hard, she keeps his eyes bravely. There's dizziness, nausea, and her head aches from that influx of emotions and painful memories she tried to repress for so long. But she refuses to back down.

The look in his eyes is unreadable.

He nods curtly at the corridor, a barely perceptible gesture. Then he's pulling her back in the direction of his room.

She has no choice but to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea has been in my head for almost an entire year now. It wouldn't leave me alone, so I finally started to write it down.  
> Although I have many plot ideas already, some things are still kinda messy, and I will try to do the tweaks and adjustments as best as I possibly can, while also trying not to alter the original story line too much. I just want my poor babies to stay together, that's all lol.  
> I'm excited to write about the 18th century. If I make any historical mistakes, please point them out to me ;)


	2. My Pain, Your Thrill

_Your cruel device,_

_Your blood, like ice,_

_One look could kill,_

_My pain,_

_Your thrill..._

* * *

_What is he going to do to her?_

To follow him through the dark corridors is a torture already.

Everything she ever wanted, all she ever battled for... All of it is left behind, with each step she takes. Each echoing footstep is a brick on the wall of her failure, and right now, there is no turning back.

No turning back, at least not while a hardened, angry pirate is holding her arm tightly and dragging her along. His fingers are like steel, a silent warning of what's to come once they're behind closed doors.

More than once, she considers an escape. Every single time they turn a corner, every single time she sees a torch on the wall.

It would be relatively easy; burning his eyes and breaking free... But what chance would she stand? The men would be on her in no time, there's no guarantee she'd be able to find a way out...

And even if she did, what exactly is waiting for her out there, if she leaves this place without the girl?

She  _failed_. Now what?

_She **failed.**_

Her blood feels like ice in her veins as he shoves her inside the room, before locking the door behind them.

She was expecting yells of rage. Accusing words, filled with hatred. Maybe even a few threats, although she knows he would  _never_  find the courage to hurt her.

But then he sits on the edge of the bed, his face a cold mask, and there's nothing.

The fireplace crackles and she stands there, a few feet away from the door, watching him as painfully long minutes drag by. If only she could know what's going on inside his mind...

She wishes he would just say  _something_ -

When he gets to his feet, all of a sudden, she actually flinches.

"Let me see your hand."

"It's not-"

A hiss of pain escapes her lips when he grabs her wrist, pulling it closer to his face harshly.

There's dried blood all over her palm, and now that the adrenaline is gone from her system, the wound hurts like a bitch. It only gets worse when he pours some rum over it, but he doesn't seem to give a damn.

If anything, he probably takes dark pleasure in making her pain worse.

Once satisfied that the wound is clean enough, he begins to search around the room. His eyes soon settle on the blanket and he unceremoniously uses one of his blades to cut a strip of the fabric. Her eyes watch him closely as he dresses her wound, wrapping the cloth snugly around her hand.

The pain is still pretty bad, but at least now she knows the injury has better chances of healing.

Then it hits her.

She was about to betray him, the biggest, most serious betrayal she can imagine, and he's just  _cared_ for her wound.

Still, he was so cold and distant while doing it. It's as if he's having a tough time processing what almost took place in this fort tonight. His eyes are unreadable as he paces around the room, lost in thought.

_He's trying to decide what to do with her._

And she won't sit quietly, waiting for him to do so.

She's at his mercy, and whether she likes it or not, she needs to find a way to make herself useful to him. The engines are already turning in her brain as she thinks about the unexpected turn of events, trying to come up with new solutions.

"You should leave now." Her voice echoes through the room, causing the sounds of his footsteps to cease immediately. "To Charles Town."

His scoff is filled with contempt, perhaps even disgust. It brings a scowl to her face.

"And hand this place to him on a silver platter?"

"I heard their conversation. Just before I left. That girl is too important. If you leave, he will go after you. It will be far more urgent than anything else. Trust me... I know him."

He doesn't look at her. His feet take him all the way to the window and he stands there, shoulders stiff, fists clenched at his sides.

After all those years, she knows he's trying to decode her, to determine whether he can trust what she's saying or not.

"I told him to give me until the morning, so... If you leave now, you will probably have at least 12 hours to your advantage, before he realizes what happened."

He's not convinced.

His stubbornness makes her so damn angry, but maybe she's the one who brought this on tonight.

"Stay here and you risk losing everything. He will attack, you know that. You lose this place, the girl. He takes it all. You know I'm right. You know you have no other choice, you can see that. At least if you go now, you have a chance of success...  _ransoming_  her. And each minute you stall, your likelihood to win decreases."

Her voice raises a little, and she just hopes she wasn't too aggressive. He could see it the wrong way.

_She just wants him out of here..._

"We're leaving, then."

For a moment, she's stunned into silence.

"What?"

"' _Ransom'_  rings any bells?"

"No, I... ' _We_ '?"

He slams the window shut, all of a sudden. She hardly even flinches.

"I feel shit's about to go down here. If I'm not around, who else will give a fuck about keeping you alive?"

She knows he regrets the words, as soon as they leave his mouth.

"Why do  _you_  give a fuck?"

Instead of answering her, he walks away from the window, starting to organize his stuff.

Any hint of concern for her well being is completely gone when he speaks again. "You really expected me to leave you here? So you could just run to him as soon as I set sail? Tell him about this change of plans? You think I would be that stupid?"

With a hostile look on her face, she stands there, watching as he got ready to leave.

She's not going anywhere.

She  _can't_.

When he leaves to talk to the men, locking the door behind him, despair tries to get the best of her.

She should be back in the tavern right now, she should have been stronger. She was so resolute on seeing this through. After all those years of pain... Why did she need to have an emotional breakdown  _tonight_? Of all times... Why did her bottled up feelings and fears choose  _that_  moment to attack?

She can't leave. God only knows what's going to happen in Charles Town.

If he goes down, he will be taking her with him, and she just can't allow that.

Rushing over to the window and opening it again, she tries hard to keep her hands from trembling.

One look, and her hopes are crushed.

There's no way she can escape from here. She would surely fall to her death. Maybe if she had a rope...

There are a few around here. She could use the blanket, tie all of it together, then secure one of the ends to  _something_ -

A whine of frustration leaves her lips.

_It's impossible._

In her fury, she stalks over to the door and hits the wood with both hands, only to cry out in pain as the wound on her palm reminded her of its existence.

Cradling her hand to her chest, she settles on the foot of the bed, defeated.

_Defeated._

Words can't express how ashamed she is of herself right now.

When the door opens again, after what feels like a thousand years, she sees he has three men with him. She tries to take a better look at them, but he's quick to close the door.

After considering her for a few seconds, he shakes his head.

"That stunt you pulled."

Her eyes close for a moment. Her throat suddenly feels dry.

This is it; her sentence is coming.

"I knew it was a possibility but I was hoping we had shared enough... To make such a thing unthinkable."

There's a pang in her heart. She doesn't want to stop and think about what it means.

"I always knew I should be careful around you. Now I know that it will never be enough."

"Charles, I swear to God-"

"I'll keep you locked down during our time at sea."

She's too stunned to to react at first. His words cut her like a knife, and she actually thinks he's joking.

What he says next proves her wrong.

"No one will touch you, throughout the entire journey. I just can't afford to have you roaming freely around the ship."

Finally finding her voice again, she gets to her feet, her aching hand forgotten again.

"You're basically telling me... That I am your prisoner now? Nothing more than a  _slave_?"

"Uncomfortable to swap roles?"

The acidity in his tone is unlike anything she's ever heard before.

"You'll be safe from the men. Both you and the girl. I took care of that already."

"I refuse to be transported like...  _In inhuman conditions-_ "

"You'll have food and water. Now I suggest you stop whining. You should be grateful that you're still alive right now."

She scoffs at that, stepping closer and opening her mouth to answer with a sharp remark, but he stops her.

"' _I told him to give me until the morning_.' Before you came here, you were plotting my demise. With  _him_. You were willing to put an end to our story? Let me be the one to do that instead."

"By all means, go ahead!" She snaps, completely fed up by now. A daring look fills her eyes and she approaches him slowly, her chin raised high.

She's not scared of him, not in the slightest. What she felt back at the gate, that strange fear, is  _completely_  gone now.

"Go ahead! End my life right now, put a bullet through my temple. A sword through my gut. I  _dare_ you to do it."

Anyone who talked to him like this probably wouldn't live to tell the story.

_Anyone else but her._

She sees as he swallows hard, raising his chin in an attempt at looking more confident. He makes no move to touch her, and the hatred in his eyes speaks volumes for him.

Finally stopping just a feet away from him, she sneers. Victorious, for now. It's better than nothing.

"It's  _pathetic_ , did you know that? So many have died for much less. Even if I had followed through with my original plan tonight, I doubt you would have put that threat of yours in motion."

"You have no  _fucking_  idea."

That voice, that  _look_ , should be enough to make grown men piss their pants and run away in fear.

She doesn't even take a single step back.

"I'm  _not_  leaving this place."

"I'm afraid you have no other choice right now." He opens the door again, the three Neanderthals she saw earlier coming inside the room immediately.

_Coming towards her._

She does try to fight.

She tries to punch, to kick, but her hands are soon restrained behind her back, a gag placed in her mouth to keep her from raising alarm.

Just as the three assholes drag her out of the room, she looks over her shoulder, meeting his eyes for a second. She tries to call out for him, an angry plea, but her voice is muffled.

On the outside, he just seems awfully pleased with himself... But the faint hint of heartbreak in his eyes as he watches the scene and her despair doesn't go unnoticed by her.

* * *

"Mr. Gates turned his back on you. Don't think for a second I'll make the same mistake he did."

Often, He finds himself wondering how this is even possible. The person he once was, what would he think of his present?

_What would the person he loved, once upon a time, think?_

Silence drags by, his stupid musings welcoming him to a place he knows very well by now, a place that only he can visit.

A prison. And he's the only one in possession of its key.

Only half aware of Billy's presence, he also thinks about what's to come.

At first it was difficult, he had his doubts, but now he knows it's only a matter of time before she fulfills her end of the deal. Only a matter of time before she comes back from that fort, their biggest chance at success following her like a scared little puppy.

That woman... She's really something else. The things he's heard from Scott recently...

No little girl should go through what she did. She could very well have ended up broken, too broken to function, completely destroyed and unable to make anything of herself.

_Look what she achieved here instead._

Whatever happens, a part of him will always admire her. A part of him will always nurture this...  _Pride_? It's the only word he can think of, and it's silly, to say the least. He's not her father, not related to her  _at all_ , he wasn't even here during her early years.

Still, whenever he witnesses her strength, her wits, there's a twinge of a very, very unfamiliar feeling. Something  _warm_  stirring in the cold depths of his heart.

Right now, he finds himself worrying about her.

She was very clear. And he knows what she'd been planning, as he watched her leave the tavern.

Take the girl, without Vane's consent if need be. Who's to say she will succeed? What happens to her if she doesn't?

The thought shouldn't bother him this much.

And if she does succeed, what happens then?

It's painfully obvious. The way these two feel about each other. Hell, there mustn't be a single soul in this island who's not aware of the strange connection between them. And now she's about to destroy that for good.

_Destroy_... The things she will need to destroy, to achieve the end they all desire.

For a fleeting moment in time, Flint catches himself wondering whether he admires or despises her for making these choices.

It shouldn't matter anyway, and with a shake of his head, he returns from his private little world.

Billy is still here, for some reason. The silence between them becomes unsettling all of a sudden and he clears his throat, desperately searching his brain for something to say, anything-

"She must be terrified of me."

_What the fuck?_

The younger man looks from the ground to his face, frowning in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Sighing heavily, he rubs his temples. Might as well keep following that line of conversation.

"Miss Ashe. I assume she will be unwilling to trust me at first."

Frown softening, Billy shrugs to himself. "I could be completely mistaken. But the kind of girl she probably is... I think she'll just grasp any opportunity to return home with both hands, and never let go... Once she feels  _safe_  enough to do so. Try not to scare her...  _too much_. And it should be okay."

He scoffs, getting up from the chair. Taking a peek outside, he signals for one of his men.

"Word from the tavern?"

There's a strange ball of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach as he asks the question.

He just feels as if something's  _wrong_ , for some reason.

When the crewmember answers with a "no, captain", he forces himself to nod. His heart has started beating a little bit faster and his face must give away his emotions as he returns to his chair.

"Is there anything wrong?" Billy asks and he promptly shakes his head, doing his very best to look confident.

"No... No. Nothing at all."

* * *

Wide eyes stare back in the direction of the island, she's able to see the faint glow of torches and light coming from one of two windows in the fortress.

Each time these wild beasts plunge the oars into the dark water, she feels her heart break a little.

They're snatching her away from her home, from everything she's ever known, everything she holds dear.

And there's absolutely  _nothing_  she can do about that.

For what's probably the 100th time, Eleanor tries to free her wrists, as discreetly as she can. The rough rope only bites into her skin, making her grimace from the pain. Whatever they did, the binds only seem to get tighter and tighter every time she moves.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looks away from the island, unable to handle the sorrow of watching as it grew more and more distant.

The teenager sitting right in front of her is in the very same situation; her hands tied behind her back, a gag keeping her from screaming.

The only difference between them, is that her cheeks are soaked with tears.

The poor thing. This child was probably trusting her with her whole heart. Believing she would get her to safety, to the comfort of a familiar face, an old friend's arms. Being so close to that, only to be yanked back into this scary situation, must be too much for her fragile mind.

Her father, Flint and herself are not the only people she's failed tonight.

A fresh wave of self-loathing washes over her, the wound on her palm mostly forgotten by now. As soon as the outline of the Fancy becomes visible, an hostile look comes to her face.

Charles is still back in the fort, for some reason. For the next hour or so, she will be alone in the ship with those savages and the child. And God help her, if any of them tries to harm them in any way, she will make them wish they were never born.

As they finally get to the ship and one of the four man reaches for the ladder, she locks eyes with Abigail, a silent promise in those blue green depths. Eleanor may have failed her tonight, but there's no way she will let her be harmed in any way. Protecting her from these bastards is the least she can do.

A brief, barely perceptible nod lets her know the teen understood her message perfectly. It makes her heart feel just a little bit lighter.

One of the men grabs her left arm and she yanks it away from him. They untie her wrists, and she's not stupid. She knows there's no way she'd be able to escape this situation, to defeat them somehow. It would only make things even worse, so she regretfully brings her hands to the rungs, starting the climb up. Her heart is drumming in her chest, she can't see a thing and her right foot slips on the rungs once or twice.

It's actually a relief when they finally step foot on the deck. And it's absolutely  _outraging_ , the way one of the men shoves her in the direction of a hatch door. She'd give them a piece of her mind, if it wasn't for the fucking gag.

Abigail wastes no time, rushing to her side, careful to stay as close to her as possible.

She takes one last, longing look in the direction of the island, wondering when or  _if_  she'd see her home again.

The only thought in her mind as two of the Neanderthals guide them below deck, is whether her father will be worried about her or not.

And deep down, she knows exactly what's the cruel, painful,  _truthful_  answer to that question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's kinda slow for now, things will start to pick up soon (and chapters will get longer too.)  
> If you have any requests, something you'd like to read, don't hesitate to let me know and I'll see if I can incorporate it into the story ;)


	3. History to You

_Steal away in the morning,_

_Love is already history to you,_

_Just a habit you're forming,_

_This body's desperate for something new..._

* * *

**Atlantic Ocean**

"He's not just anyone, is he?"

That young voice, the voice that's been one of her only companions for the past four days, brings her back from her thoughts. Eleanor looks over at the teen, barely able to see her in the dark.

She only knows it's the morning thanks to all the footsteps rushing through the corridors, the faint voices coming from above.

_Sometimes, she gets to hear Charles'._

"I thought you were asleep."

The brig consists of a rectangular room, one of the far ends of it divided into two narrow cells. They're deep into the bowels of the ship, just below the ocean's surface, she suspects. Judging by the strange sounds, or how she sometimes hears a wave or two crashing against the hull outside...

And the sound comes from above her head.

During the first couple of days, she expected the water to invade this room and drown them at any minute, but Abigail was quick to reassure her, saying she'd spent some time down here before, and nothing ever happened.

_Abigail._

The child is surprising her. She was expecting to hear whines, cries, and to see tears all the time. But since their first night here, Abigail has been holding it together fairly well. The men never approach them and they receive enough provisions every day, so she probably realized she has nothing to fear.

And she really doesn't. Soon enough, she'll be home, safe and sound.

Eleanor knows her own future is not half as certain. But she refuses to welcome fear.

"I'm not. I was here, thinking..." Abigail begins, approaching the rusty iron bars that separate their cells. "...You didn't answer my question. He's not just anyone, am I right? The captain."

She heaves a sigh, her eyes falling closed. Sooner or later, the question was bound to come. And she knew it.

"The way he spoke to you. About how you would turn on absolutely anyone? And I saw tears in his eyes. In yours too... Yours even escaped."

Eleanor can't help but shoot her a glare of warning when she says that, and the teen flinches a little.

She feels awful, immediately. She's supposed to help this young girl feel better, not make thing even worse. It's her fault they're locked up in this cold, filthy place after all.

And there's no point in lying, really. Soon, they'll be separated and won't ever hear of each other again.

"No. He's not- he  _wasn't_  just anyone."

Abigail frowns when she corrects herself hastily.

"He was your lover, wasn't he?"

She doesn't answer. Her silence does it for her.

And apparently, the girl is smarter than she first gave her credit for.

"Wait... You betrayed him, didn't you? That moment you shared by the gate... It was heartbreak in his eyes. You ruined your relationship with the one you love, because of  _me_."

The amount of guilt in her voice has Eleanor taken aback. Shaking her head, the blonde moves closer to the bars too.

"It's all my fault, isn't it?"

"It's not anybody's fault, but his own. Do you understand? He could have avoided this turn of events, if he wasn't so stubborn and extreme about his stupid beliefs, his stupid..." She clenches her jaw, hatred getting the best of her for a moment. "You didn't ruin anything, alright? You are just an innocent soul thrown into the midst of this war because of some fucked up, crazy, sadistic bastard. Thank God he's gone. You should have never seen the things you saw. Or been to that place, that island. None of this is your fault. Besides... It doesn't matter. That relationship had already been doomed a long, long time ago. I made a choice. To me, there are things  _far_  more important than love, and I chose those things. I have no regret... I would choose those things all over again if I had the chance."

She didn't mean to rant like that. Silence returns to the brig and she sighs at the soft scowl on Abigail's face.

"What happened to make you that way?"

Strangely, she feels the burn of tears in her eyes.

Ducking her head, she tries to regain her composure. Abigail's words have brought a thousand images to her mind. Most of them include her father's cold eyes.

"Love is history to me, and it has been like that ever since I can remember. Maybe that's just who I am. Not everything in life needs to have a reason." She lies easily, doing her best to lock the unpleasant images -  _memories_  - back in the depths of her mind where they belong.

Abigail knows better than to pry any further, and silence reigns for a few minutes.

"The captain may be angry now. But I believe that if someone loves you... They always come back. No matter what."

Eleanor scoffs at the girl's adorable attempt at comforting her. As if she even needs to be comforted... She's not heartbroken,  _Charles_  is.

_Not **her.**_

She just misses her home, that's all.

Shaking her head, she meets Abigail's eyes again.

"This world will probably destroy the way you see love in no time."

"Will it?" Abigail frowns, seeming to be thinking about something. "The one who should have loved me above all else, the one who should have protected me... Practically pushed me away. Had I been home, by his side, I would have never been kidnapped. He sent me away for one reason and one alone: I was his  _daughter_."

She makes sure to emphasize that last word, and Eleanor feels a painful stab in her heart. For a moment, it feels as if she's sharing this conversation with her own younger self.

"If only I was his son... I would be by his side, learning something useful. Something other than how to be a proper lady. A proper lady for a  _husband's_  delight."

For the first time since the moment they were locked up in the cells, a tear slides down the young girl's cheek. Eleanor can't help but reach out for her, easily slipping her hand between two of the bars and gently wiping the moisture away from that sweet, innocent face.

"The captain asked if my father loved me. He didn't use the actual words, but..." She lets out a shuddering breath. Damned be these rusty bars, Eleanor just wishes she could hug this poor child. "...I didn't answer. I could  _not_. But... From a young age, I already knew what was the answer to that question. Believe me... This world already tried to distort the meaning of love in my eyes... It already tried to alter the way I feel about love. About  _compassion_. This world tried hard, and it never succeeded. I don't think it  _ever_  will."

She's completely torn.

Part of her thinks Abigail is a stupid child for thinking like that. The other one admires this young girl... She's not sure whether the teen is too smart for her age or too naive to even know what she's talking about.

"I like you." Abigail says suddenly, an adorable smile on her face. "And I feel sad when I remember we will be forced to part ways soon. But at least... now I know you will be safe. The captain still cares about you... I know he does. And he will never let anything bad befall you."

For a second, Eleanor feels very tempted to believe those words. She also finds herself wishing things were different. For a fleeting, strange moment.

"For a moment in time, I... Actually wished I could have turned out like you." She shrugs, forcing a weak smile. "By your age I was already bitter and...  _Dismantled_ , I suppose. And you're far from that, so... Perhaps there is hope for you, after all."

One of the cold, small, delicate hands settles atop hers. Abigail squeezes her fingers gently, offering her a sincere smile of encouragement.

"And for  _you_  as well."

Her scoff is inevitable. But there's no hostility at all on her face.

Their moment is broken when the door is thrown open. Only Abigail flinches, and Eleanor puts on a serious face as one of the men comes in, walking all the way over to their cells.

He wordlessly slips two pieces of bread through the bars before turning around to leave.

"Could you please tell the captain we request more blankets? The nights are getting colder!" Abigail calls out, causing Eleanor to grimace involuntarily.

The last thing she wants is for Charles to be aware of how much she's suffering with the cold.

Thankfully, the crewmember doesn't even acknowledge Abigail's request.

As they eat in silence, all Eleanor can think about is how grateful she feels, every single time that door opens and she doesn't see that unique face

Even though there's also a twinge of  _disappointment_  in her heart, growing stronger with each passing day.

* * *

It's getting painfully hard to try and ignore the special "cargo" he has in his new ship.

He's been keeping his distance. The last time he saw her was when his men dragged her out of his room, back at the fort. The memory tortures him often; the image of her, gagged, hands bound behind her back. The hint of despair in those wide eyes as she tried to call out for him one last time.

She  _deserves_  it.

She deserves to be locked down, she deserves all this humiliation.

_After everything he did for her... After he murdered the monster who once strode regally through this very same ship, risking his own life to keep her safe._

A shudder goes down his spine for what feels like the 100th time. Every time he thinks about that traitorous mermaid... He just can't shake this feeling. It's a mess. He's still livid, but also so happy to have her here. There's this urge taking him over, this urge to keep Eleanor at his side, under his wing, now  _more than ever._

This feels just like all those times when he'd get his last ship through a nasty storm. The intense relief whenever he was sailing away from all that danger, chaos and destruction.

It's the  _exact_  same feeling.

Charles doesn't even want to think about what could have happened. If she had actually left with the girl that night. Or if he'd left her behind...

A nightmare, reversed.

There's another memory haunting him. The look she had on her face, while going through whatever internal conflict that was, back at that blasted gate. For the first time in forever, he saw her  _break_  right in front of him. He saw her fall apart. It was probably only the second time this ever happened, and damn it, whenever he remembers that, the temptation only gets stronger.

How he wants to go down there, to check if she's okay,  _unharmed_.

Looking at the vast ocean surrounding them from all sides, he lights a cigar to help calm his nerves.

Four days. Four days and no signs of Flint on the horizon. They've been pushing the Fancy to her limits, and it's paying off. Although he'd still rather have his old girl back.

But he'll never see her again, thanks to a  _certain someone._

He keeps replaying her betrayals in his mind, trying his best to hate her,  _just hate_  her. It always works.

_For five minutes or so._

Maybe she was right. He  _is_  pathetic.

The men have questioned his decision among themselves, he's sure of it. They're all aware of what Eleanor almost did back at the fort, they were expecting him to kill her.

They still are.

These corridors below deck have ears. He's aware of all the theories flying around.

_"Maybe he'll kill her once we reach Charles Town."_

_"...wait until we find sharks..."_

_"...have her hanged up on deck..."_

_Or maybe_... Once their business with Miss Ashe's father are finished, when they're on their way back home, he will finally pass Eleanor around the men, letting each one of them punish her, one by one. In the most painful,  _humiliating_  way possible.

His heart skips a beat, hostility filling his eyes.

They're hoping for this outcome.  _All_  of them... and for a moment, he actually needs to hold back. For a moment, all he wants is to kill them all. That oh so familiar protective instinct comes crashing over him violently. It's always so strong, so intense, when it comes to that woman. Almost enough to turn him into an animal.

_He's utterly pathetic._

This particular problem has been keeping him awake at night. Sometimes he tries to convince himself that no, it  _doesn't_  matter. If the men want her blood, they'll have it.

He's killed so many before, so why the hell not?

Deep down, he knows he's just an idiot lying to himself. And once more, he finds himself at this same impasse. His attention is focused on the horizon, his eyes searching tirelessly for any signs of his enemy. But his minds just keeps going back to that torturous question.

_What the hell is he going to do with Eleanor?_

The truth is that he has no fucking idea.

* * *

**New Providence Island**

_As if she didn't have enough of a crisis on her hands already..._

Closing her eyes and taking a sip from the warm tea, Max prays it will actually do  _something_  to calm her nerves. With Anne gone now, she finds herself with more time to think about the recent turn of events. More time to  _worry_.

She managed to intercept Richard, three days ago, as he headed back to the family estate further inland and God above, the urge to punch that snob face was almost irresistible.

_"My daughter dug her own grave. We have seen the last of her. She decided to follow that savage to Charles Town, I'm afraid she will not live to tell the tale."_

Just the memory of his voice is enough to make her jaw clench. He clearly thinks Eleanor chose to betray them and leave with Vane on her own free will.

That only proves he doesn't know his own daughter at all.

She knows exactly what happened in that fort. She knows exactly what went on between these two. Max knows what her former lover's plans were, and she knows she failed. What consequences did she face? Vane took her with him, but what came next? Is she wounded? Is she even  _alive_?

She knows, just like the whole island, in fact, that the pirate would never be able to kill Eleanor. She  _knows_  it. But what about his men?

_And then there's Flint._

When he left, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. He was mad with rage and soon after the sun came up, soon after he realized the Fancy was gone and the fort was deserted, he gathered his people and set sail. But  _every_  soul on this island was aware of his fury.

She became familiar with what had been going on, the plans they had made, the promise Eleanor had not been able to live up to.

Now what? What happens when they're face to face with Flint again? Will he want revenge?

_Eleanor, what have you gotten yourself into?_

Heaving a sigh, she heads to the window.

The very same window Eleanor used to open every morning after their nights together. It was her ritual. She just had to come stare out at her little empire, after spending a few hours in their private world where nothing else mattered.

It was almost as if she wanted to make sure everything was still right there, intact, after allowing herself to indulge in something  _good_ -

She jumps a little when a fight erupts on the beach, all of a sudden. It soon escalates to gunshots, so she's quick to close the window and get away from it. Now she'll have to go down there and lock the doors, make sure all the girls are safely inside.

It could be just in her head, but since the day Eleanor was taken, this place seems to have become wilder. So much more hostile.

The tavern is chaotic. Crews are doing whatever they please with it, the guards are unable to control them, and Richard doesn't seem to care enough to leave the family estate. She has half a mind of going over there and taking the reins of the situation herself.

Idelle helps her, making sure all the girls are safe, as the fight gets more and more violent outside.

Once the doors are locked, Max sinks down in the nearest chair, utterly exhausted. She just hopes, from the bottom of her heart, that Vane will see past his anger, his hatred, and keep that stubborn tyrant safe.

Such a strong woman. It would be a shame for her to die like this, at the hands of  _men_.

* * *

**Atlantic Ocean**

Charles already knows that sleep is a luxury he won't have tonight.

The raindrops hitting the deck are constant reminders of that. Although he knows this rain is unlikely to get any heavier, he can't keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds. If there's a storm, he'll need to get out there, to help take care of the situation.

He tries really hard to convince himself this is the only reason behind his sour mood.

_An epic fail._

For what's probably the 10th time tonight, he catches himself wondering if the men gave them any blankets. It's the coldest night, since the beginning of their journey, and Miss Ashe is surely used to this kind of weather... But there's a certain someone who's accustomed only to the sunny, warm days that a tropical island has to offer.

It must be even colder down there... He's been to the brig once, the air is so humid... So even if the girls have any blankets, they're probably wet, which only makes things even worse.

_As if he even cares..._

Let her teeth chatter until they break. Let her fall sick, let her be miserable, shaking from the cold... curled up into a ball, trying to stay warm... Trying _so hard_  to stay warm...

_Damn her_ , the thought wasn't supposed to make him feel this bad.

Throwing his own blanket to the floor, he rises from the hammock.

_Maybe **one**  look wouldn't hurt..._

He's  _not_  going down there.

His traitorous brain has been torturing him all day. Now that his anger has died down a little, he's thinking about what happened back at the fort.

She allowed herself to fail. She gave up on her plans, seeing past her own ambitions, for what was probably the first time  _ever_.

She chose him... In a way.

She betrayed  _Flint_ in the end, not  _him_. Even if she probably regretted her decision instantly, it doesn't change the fact that-

_It doesn't change the fact she'd been ready to leave you behind to die, it doesn't change the fact she plotted your demise with Flint in that tavern, just as she plotted the betrayal against your old mentor years ago._

Even as Charles tries to balance things in his head and fight against the growing concern for the woman he has in the brig, he can feel it. His rational side is losing.

Finally, after a good ten minutes of internal conflicts fueled by anger, frustration, worry and hatred, he hastily pulls on his pants and storms out of the cabin.

Not without grabbing the thick blanket from the floor first.

* * *

Her teeth will probably be all chipped before the end of their journey.

She had no fucking idea it could get this cold out here in the open sea. And then there's this rain. Will it get any heavier? Are they in danger? She knows the men won't even bother to let her out of this cell if the ship begins to sink or something like that.

Trying not to be afraid, Eleanor sighs heavily.

She's been thinking about what Abigail said since the morning...

_Maybe the girl was right?_

Winning back Charles' good graces might be her only chance at survival now... She's in serious danger. Every time one of the men comes down here to give them food and water, she notices the way they look at her.

_Scorn. Contempt._

_Lust. For her blood **and** her body._

She has two options, if she wants to keep her life and her dignity, or what's left of it.

The ideal solution would be to leave this ship, but it's not like she has anywhere to go right now. At first, she kept hoping Flint would catch up to them soon, perhaps he could save her...

After all, she knows Flint cares for her, in a level... But would it be enough? She ruined everything. He probably doesn't want to see her, even if she's covered in gold. And if he does see her, she has a feeling he won't be too interested in conversation or deals.

Maybe Scott would try to convince his captain to help her, but would he succeed?

_Would, if, maybe_... She's so fucking tired of those words.

No, she needs something solid. Something  _certain_.

Leaving the ship is not a possibility at the moment, she knows it. She's not sure when she'll even be able to try and do that.

And she's not sure how much time she'll spend as these men's prisoners... It's a very vulnerable position she's in right now. The crew has been able to obey their captain's orders up to this point, never laying a finger on her, but how long will it be before one of them gets too drunk one night? Drunk enough to forget about rules and orders, drunk enough to come down here, uncaring about consequences...

She doesn't want to think about it. But as long as she's down here, locked up, she's unprotected.

Currently, she's  _not_  strong enough to protect herself. It wouldn't be too wise to just  _pretend_  that she is.

It's painfully clear. Charles is her only hope right now. And she'll be forced to lower her head, to play a role, in order to ensure her safety and survival. As humiliating as it seems, it's what needs to be done. Just for a little while... He'll pay for making her show such submission, sooner or later, she will make sure of that...

Abigail lets out a soft whine and she moves, reaching through the bars to secure the blanket around the girl's shoulders. She's dealing fairly well with the cold, but Eleanor isn't that lucky.

She's never been colder, in her entire life. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she grimaces at how wet her coat is. Why does the air need to be this humid down here? How is it even possible?

All her clothes are wet, but there's no way she'll remove them. Any of the men could come here at any minute.

Her mind soon goes back to her strategies.

God, how humiliating it would be... But she needs to survive, it's her top priority, and right now... There is only one way out. As long as Charles is angry with her, there's no guarantee he'll give a fuck about protecting her from the men, or Flint, or  _anyone_  else.

She needs to drag him back to her side... By feeding the love she's certain he still has for her, deep down. Now all she needs is to come up with a scheme, to bring him down here. Maybe if she tells the men she's hurt or sick, it will be enough.

_And well, it wouldn't even be a lie..._ _Her throat is starting to hurt already._

She feels so tired, but also too unsafe to go to sleep. Shrinking into a corner, she rubs her own arms over the wet clothes, uselessly trying to produce some heat. She's trembling, her teeth chattering violently. The sounds mix with creaking wood, Abigail's soft breathing and the faint slap of waves against the hull outside.

If she manages to sneak her way back into Charles' bed, and she  _will_ , she'll need to start thinking about the next steps immediately. She'll be safe until they return home, of course, but what comes after that? Flint will want to confront her soon, to make her pay for ruining everything, that assuming he won't manage to intercept them at sea. If  _that_  happens, she knows that violence will be inevitable. There will be a battle, she knows it.

And there is  _someone_  she cares a great deal for, in that ship.

God, she hopes he will be safe, should a war begin between both crews. She's not ready to see him die, to see him join his wife and daughter wherever they are. If there's even such a thing as the afterlife.

This story will only be over when one of the captains wins. Part of her wishes Flint will be the victorious one, but what would he do to her? Would Scott be able to protect her? Would he even  _care_  enough to risk his own neck and try? Or would the present speak louder than all those bedtime stories he used to read her every night, once upon a distant time?

_For fuck's sake, what a mess she's gotten herself into..._

A hard wave crashes against the hull, just above her head, and she flinches before touching her fingers to the rough wood, scowling to herself.

And to think that some sailors are dragged under this thing, from one side to the other... Their mangled corpses lifted from the ocean and thrown back into the deck as if they're nothing but gutted pigs...It's such an act of savagery, and she always condemned the practice.

_No matter what._

Leaning her head against the wood, she hugs her knees to her chest, trembling even harder. It hits her yet again... She's out here. Where those things happen, where these men make their own laws. Where things are settled with violence, and there is no place for those who don't know how to fight. Wits aren't always enough, and that's  _all_  she has.

The safety of the dry land, the safety she always wanted to cling to... It's far, far away by now. And her biggest chance at survival, the only person who would give a shit about keeping her safe right now, doesn't even want to look at her face.

_Just how is she going to put her plans into motion, if Charles won't even come down here to see her-_

The door squeaks on its rusty, worn hinges, the sound harshly bringing her back to the here and now.

Eleanor looks up immediately, her features serious and threatening, her back pressed against the damp wall. She's on alert mode in a heartbeat, knowing this can't be good. There's no reason for the men to come down here in the middle of the night and she's already fearing the worst.

Her heart leaps to her throat, but for a reason other than fright, as soon as her eyes settle on the "intruder".

It's not one of the crewmembers.

_It's their captain._

Her mouth suddenly feels so dry. She doesn't move a muscle as they stare at each other across the rectangular room.

The first time she sees him, since that night at the fort. His eyes hold nothing but coldness, but as he walks closer to the cells, she notices the blanket in one of his hands.

It makes her heart swell a little bit. With some  _very_  unwanted feelings.

He casts a quick glance at Abigail's sleeping form before slipping the blanket through the bars of the other cell. This brings Eleanor out of her haze and she immediately moves forward, not getting to her feet. She fights against the urge to pretend everything's okay. All she wants is to stop trembling, to hide all evidences of how  _cold_  she feels.

But she needs him to feel bad for her. She needs to appeal to his love. It's there, deep down, she just needs to stoke those flames a little bit, and they'll soon melt all that icy surface away.

Not a single word leaves her lips. She just stares up into his eyes, holding the new,  _dry_  blanket to her chest. Her teeth chatter harder, and she sees it clearly. The moment something flashes in those familiar blue depths, his cold facade faltering. She sees it as he raises his chin, swallowing hard.

And it makes her so  _proud_ , the fact that she still has the ability to do this to him.

He's staring down at her, so conflicted, and she's just about to cling to this sliver of hope-

Then he's turning around and walking away.

Her heart sinks.

She's debating with herself whether to call out for him or not, when he punches the door to the brig. Eleanor hardly even flinches.

Abigail is still sleeping peacefully as he walks all the way back to their cells, his jaw clenched hard. Eleanor's eyes go wide for the fraction of a second when he reaches for the new string around his neck, pulling it over his head. Four or five little keys hang from it, jingling in the air for a moment before his fingers close around one of the small objects.

She watches in tense silence as he unlocks her cell.

All he gives her is a curt nod in the direction of the door, and she's quick to react.

After giving Abigail one last look, she walks through the gate, trying very hard not to smirk in triumph.

* * *

As he leads her through the narrow, dark corridors that formed a labyrinth in the bowels of the ship, she tries to keep her balance. This rain is clearly disturbing the ocean, but it's not bad enough to alarm her. The sounds of creaking wood seem to follow them everywhere as they go up a few sets of stairs. He doesn't bother going slow, forcing her to struggle in order to keep up.

Just as she's starting to get angry, they reach a large door at the end of a particularly long corridor. There's a strange feeling taking her over as she follows him inside the captain's quarters.

_It's thrilling. It's claustrophobic. It's maddening and amazing all at once._

Silence still reigns, supreme, as he makes sure to lock the door behind them. There's another one on the other side of the room. He locks it too. It makes her feel just like a caged animal and she quickly rolls her eyes, just before he faces her again.

The blanket he gave her is now around her shoulders, and she's barely able to make out his features in the dark. A spike of lightning floods the cabin for a couple of seconds, and she notices the line of windows behind the desk. Charles lets out a heavy sigh, heading over to the hammock and sorting through his messy belongings.

"Take your clothes off."

After almost five days and all that silence, his voice sounds so foreign... Almost as if she's hearing it for the very first time. She's so stunned at it, that it takes her a moment to really let the words sink in.

But when they do, she can't hold back her scoff of indignation.

"Unless you want to freeze to death. Be my guest."

Immediately, Eleanor feels stupid.

Of course, her clothes are soaked, that's why he told her to take them off. Her cheeks actually burn a little as she lets the blanket drop to the wooden floor. The coat, blouse and skirt follow soon after, and she sees the way his eyes linger on her body before he focuses back on searching for whatever it is he wants.

Soon, he throws something her way. She barely manages to catch it in the air, realizing what it was as soon as her fingers touched the all too familiar fabric.

_His long sleeved shirt._

"Only option." He says, his voice still rough.

How long has it been since the last time she wore this? Five years or so? Maybe six?

It was during a night on his old ship, a rainy night, much like this one.

Deja vu takes her over as she hesitantly puts it on, and it's so  _dry_. She never thought it would feel so comfortable; the rough fabric rubbing against her nipples shouldn't be this pleasing, but it's _dry clothing_. A  _very_  welcome contrast to the wet, uncomfortable stuff she'd been wearing for the past couple of days, at least.

Her teeth are still chattering a little, the sounds mixing with rain, faint thunder and creaking wood as they stare at each other.

This morning when she woke up, she was stuck in a cell, no dignity, no comfort. Now she's standing here in the captain's quarters, wearing the captain's shirt, and she managed to conquer this with nothing more than a  _look_.

He nods towards a spot near the desk, and only then she notices the little bunk, shrouded in darkness. It's like a cold bath, but she obeys, walking over to it. He'll probably stick to the hammock. This will be an obstacle to her plans, to what she needs to achieve here tonight.

But to her surprise and delight, he follows her, one of his eyebrows raising as she sits down on the worn, thin mattress. There's no challenge or scorn at all in her eyes whilst she stares up at him, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt.

He frowns, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"Where the hell is all that defiance you showed back on your island, your majesty?"

_He's mocking her._

Biting back a nasty retort, she shrugs calmly.

"I fail to see any point in antagonizing you. Whether I like it or not... I am now under your custody. In  _your_  kingdom, not mine. Your domain. And I really do not want my... stay aboard your ship to be any more..." She swallows hard, hating herself so much for lowering her head like this. "...difficult and unpleasant than it needs to be. To both of us."

This half smirk plays on his lips, blue eyes glinting with amusement.

"Such a pragmatist. In that case..." He turns around, and she watches as he works on putting the guns and the blades away, locking them inside a cabinet. "... I suppose you'll have no problem being a good girl and doing as you're told?"

She frowns, considering his words carefully. He wants to humiliate her. But she already knew this was a possibility.

_**Damn**  him._

Folding her hands across her lap, she raises her chin regally. But also trying not to show too much insolence.

"I will do as you say."

It feels as if her tongue is going to catch fire. But she made a decision, and she  _will_  stick to it. No matter what. She won't let him win. He thinks he has the upper hand here, but when he least expects, she'll turn his world upside down all over again.

He considers her in the dark, folding his arms over that naked chest of his. Her breath almost catches when he approaches the bunk, grabbing a hold of her chin.

Staring up at him, Eleanor stands her ground as best as she can, seconds dragging by.

"Good."

With that, he lets go, a little bit harsher than necessary. It makes her turn her head to the side and she clenches her jaw, feeling her blood boil in her veins.

"Move closer to the wall."

Too stunned to react, she scowls up at him as he undoes his pants.

"Excuse me?"

"What happened to ' _I will do as you say_ '?" All that harshness is back in his voice, and she soon understands what his intentions are.

Her eyes go to the hammock, then back to his face, and he scoffs.

"This is  _my_  environment. You may have been able to sneak away back at the fort. But when I'm in the middle of the damn ocean, in charge of a ship, and it's raining outside... I'm a light sleeper. It's your warning."

She does her best not to let her eyes travel downwards when his pants drop to the floor. He has the habit of sleeping naked, always. Of course her presence here wouldn't change things. As she moves closer to the wall, he sits on the spot she'd been occupying just a second prior. She instantly realizes why he's doing this.

He doesn't  _want_  to be this close to her. Not just yet. This is nothing more than a safety measure. She's now stuck, the only way to leave the bunk would be to crawl over his body, and she would never get away with that.

_It's not like she had any plans of sneaking away again, but with that betrayal still so fresh in his mind..._

The bunk is narrow, clearly designed to fit only one person at a time. This forces them so close together; she can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It's harder than it should be; fighting against the urge to cuddle against him... But she's still freezing, it's just a natural response of her body.

Nothing more than that.

He reaches for another blanket at their feet, pulling it over their bodies. Their eyes meet, and a shiver goes down her spine as he looks down at her lips for a brief moment.

A good sign, for sure.

But what he says next brings a scowl to her face.

"You try anything, I'll choke you to death."

With that, he turns his back to her.

Her lips are parted while she stares at the outline of his head, barely visible in the dark. As unexpected as that threat was, it does little to discourage her. She  _will_  follow through with her plans to win back his good graces, and there is only  _one_  way she can think of doing so.

But perhaps she should wait? His anger is still so fresh, he could react badly. Would he be capable of rejecting her? The thought seems so absurd...

Still trembling a little, she keeps frowning to herself, eyes glued to his still form.

What if tomorrow morning, Flint is upon them already? What if the crew reacts badly to finding out she spent the night here with their captain? What if they prompt him to do something about her?

No, she needs to recover her throne in Charles' heart, and she has no time to lose. Any delay could very well cost her her life.

_You try anything, I'll choke you to death._

She doesn't believe him for a second.

Swallowing the lump that has formed in her throat, she reaches for him. As soon as her fingertips touch his back, he flinches. Her hand must be so cold.

Slowly, she closes the small distance between them, her lips pressing against the skin of his shoulder. Her heart is drumming, adrenaline flowing through her veins as she kisses the firm skin once, twice-

All the breath leaves her lungs as he turns around, grabbing a strong hold of both her wrists and forcing her against the wall. His eyes are filled with dark warning, but she's never been one to be afraid of him.

She wasn't afraid when she strode inside his tent, years ago, knowing absolutely  _nothing_ about the world of carnal pleasures. She wasn't afraid when she gave her virtue to this very same dangerous pirate.

_And she won't be afraid **now.**_

Her breathing is just a little bit heavy as she moves, pressing her lips to his.

At first he's frozen, battling with his self control. But she feels it when his lower lip moves briefly. It's all the encouragement she needs. Her body seeks his and apparently, the feeling of her exposed legs tangling with his own is too much for him.

In an instant, he's devouring her. His hands go to her waist, moving under the shirt, and Eleanor feels almost giddy as all that warmth surrounds her. He's always been so  _warm_.

As soon as he frees her wrists, her hands go to his cheeks, pulling him closer. She's got him, now all she needs is to lure him in deeper, and he'll be completely caught in her web again in no time.

_Perhaps he'd been right, all those times when he would compare her to a mermaid._

His lips trail down the column of her neck, nipping,  _biting_ , but never kissing. He hastily grasps at the shirt, pulling it out of the way before claiming a nipple with his mouth. It's captured between his teeth, his hot tongue swirling over the tip of it. The quiet moan that escapes her lips when his hand reaches between her inner thighs is not part of her act at all.

But this is not enough. His lips on her skin, his thumb flicking that sweet bundle of nerves, it only stokes the fire inside her. And she needs more.

Her plans are suddenly the last thing on her mind, and when she tries to trail her fingers down his abdomen, he uses his free hand to restrain her wrists above her head with a low growl of warning.

Her chest is heaving as she stares into his eyes, and she squirms when his thumb picks up its pace. It's almost unbearable, and she can't take too much of this torture.

She knows what he wants from her.

The words tumbles from her lips, a barely audible " _I'm sorry_ " that makes her want to vomit.

_Empty words._  Empty words, and it's just an act, she reminds herself.

His brief, dry chuckle makes her scowl, and her eyes squeeze shut as he continues his brutal assault.

"Then you're going to  _show me_  just how sorry you are."

She doesn't understand what he means by that. For now, it makes no sense. But she has a feeling it will, soon enough.

Swallowing hard, she snakes one of her legs around his hips, trying to make his resolve falter, to urge him closer. His name leaves her lips in a pitiful whimper, a strained voice she barely recognizes as her own.

"Not sure you deserve it... After what you did? Trying to leave me behind after I had risked my life for you."

Eleanor knows exactly what he wants to hear. The humiliation is too much, and at first, she refuses to give in, keeping her mouth firmly shut.

But she can't back down now. She can't let him win, she needs to turn the tables. Let him believe he has her in the palm of his hand, only to prove him so very wrong later on, once he's served his purpose.

With a shuddering breath, she clenches her fists.

He's right  _there_ , she can feel him, rock hard at her entrance, these soft bites to her neck driving her insane.

"You did it for  _me_."

She tries to pretend it's not her voice. She tries to ignore what she just said. It clearly has an effect on him, his thumb goes still. He probably has a hard time believing she just said those words. His mouth hovers close to her skin teasingly, she can feel his hot breath.

And just as she's starting to get impatient, there's blinding pain in her neck, the vicious bite accompanied by a hard thrust of his hips.

The pace he sets, right from the beginning, is  _brutal_. She claws at his back and the edge of the bunk as soon he lets go of her wrists again, hitching her left leg over his shoulder and going as deep as he can in one push.

She doesn't want to alert the men. But it's impossible to stay quiet, and Charles is not really trying to either, his attention much more focused on pulling out of her and slamming back in, relentless.

He'd already worked her up with his fingers, so she soon finds herself on the edge. But just as she's about to fall, he stops, pulling away before flipping her on her stomach harshly. On the back of her mind there's a small voice saying she should be outraged; he's treating her like a whore. But right now, she's simply too far gone to care. And as always, this new position only intensifies the pleasure, so complaining is the last thing she feels like doing.

_Someone must a have heard them already-_

Suddenly, there's a new sound echoing through the dark cabin, and she's unable to hold back her whimpering moan of surprise and pain.

_Delicious pain._

He'd just spanked her hard. And no one can ever know but  _God **damn**  him_, she fucking  _loved_  it.

"-was so fucking angry with you after you betrayed me." He says close to her ear, grabbing at her hips hard enough to bruise. "When I saw you down there, in that cell..." He spanks her again, harder than he did before, and she bites back the pathetic sounds that tries to escape her. "...I wanted to hurt you."

His words weren't supposed to have this effect on her. They just weren't supposed to turn her on even more. But they do.

Both his hands move to her waist, he slams her back into each thrust with a force that knocks the breath from her lungs. His self control seems to falter and he brushes her hair out of the way, burying his nose against the nape of her neck. Every soft bite only fuels her pleasure, she's so fucking close now, and if he stops, she swears she'll be able to kill him with her own bare hands.

She hears him, a whispered "feels so good" slipping through his lips, probably against his will.

"Tight. So perfect." He pushes her against the mattress again, her face buried into the pillow to muffle her cries of pleasure.

" _Mine_."

It's a low growl, and normally, this would cause her to push him away, to fight. But as she hears his voice, so thick with desire, knowing  _she_  is the cause of it...

Her eyes squeeze shut, his name leaving her lips as wave after wave of pure pleasure washed over her. Her eyes water; broken, unintelligible sounds escaping her as she breathed deep, trying to recover from her intense orgasm.

Charles barely gives her a couple of seconds, soon resuming the mad pace again. And now that she's coming back from her high, her pleasure is starting to morph into pain, slowly but surely.

His hands pin hers to the mattress on either sides of her head when she tries to move, to express her discomfort. He bites hard into her shoulder in response, definitely leaving another mark.

It must have been over twenty minutes by now, _twenty minutes_  of this frantic pace, and his stamina amazes her. Maybe it's all that experience that makes it possible for him hold out for this long? She doesn't know.

She doesn't  _care_.

_It's too much._

And she knows he's doing it on purpose.

"What do you want?" She chokes out the question, finally cracking, and he snakes a hand under her neck. His fingers close around it like steel, drops of sweat falling to her back as he leans in close to her ear again.

"I want you to swear to me, on  _his_  life, that you will  _never_  betray me again."

Her father's face flashes through her mind, she knows he's talking about him, and an unpleasant feeling goes down her spine.

This is unexpected. And she doesn't know how to proceed.

She's exhausted... Everything feels too sore. He just keeps pushing, always harder and faster, and she needs it to be over soon. It's too much. Her body protests against every thrust. She tries to buck her hips, meeting his pace and clenching as tightly as she can around him. Using her own body to try and bring this to an end sooner.

It only makes the pain even worse.

_...you're going to **show me**  just how sorry you are._

So  _this_  is what he meant by that. He's been planning it from the start. To make her surrender completely.

It's all an act. If she shows submission, it will be  _just an act_. A necessary means to an end.

_The end she desires._

When she speaks, the burn of tears in her eyes makes her wonder whether her pledge is as empty as she thinks it is or not.

" _I promise_ -"

It's a quiet, broken whisper, and she just hopes it will suffice.

Apparently, it does.

With one last, deep thrust, he goes still, letting out an animalistic growl that causes her to shiver. His face is buried in her hair, she can feel him breathing her scent in deep. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest as he finally pulls out, collapsing by her side.

His entire arm touches her side, the narrow bunk forcing him to stay close to her as he recovers, trying to catch his breath.

He's  _glorious_. Emanating raw  _power_.

And she locks those stupid thoughts away, swallowing hard when she moves and his release drips down her inner thighs. He looks over at her, and she catches the faint hint of concern in his eyes.

For what feels like an eternity, they just stare at each other. The rain is light now, no more thunders roaring outside.

The cold starts to come back. Wordlessly, she reaches for the blanket, pulling it over their bodies herself. He doesn't try to put up any sort of resistance as she rests her head and right arm over his chest.

"The men?" Her voice breaks the tense silence like a knife, making him sigh heavily.

"I'll deal with them."

There's the faint ghost of a smile on her lips.

This is working. Just as she thought it would. She's  _winning_ , and he's not even aware of that.

Eleanor plans to keep things that way.

Now that she's warm, wearing a dry shirt and  _protected_ , the exhaustion from the past sleepless nights finally catches up to her. A content sigh leaves her lips and she curls against him like a lazy cat, her heavy eyelids fluttering shut.

* * *

Only after her breathing turns even and deep, Charles gives in, bringing an arm around her waist.

Every single inch of his brain is  _yelling_  at him, urging him to put an end to this hell before it begins all over again. But as he watches her peaceful face, knowing she's now safe and warm, he knows what's the unfortunate truth.

His heart is speaking louder and winning this battle.

Just as it always did.


	4. Save you from Yourself

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_A will to survive and a voice of reason_

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_Your enemies and your choices, oh_

_They're one in the same, I must isolate you_

_Isolate and save you from yourself_

* * *

Her eyes are still closed when the pain begins to register, reaching her through the thick fog of sleep. Features contorting into a grimace, she gradually comes back from the land of dreams.

She'd been dreaming about her father.

Her father, standing tall and proud. And shaking hands with this dark shadow, a smirk on his face.

It was just a shadow. And it sends shudders down her spine to remember its shape. Human. That imposing posture.

_A man._

Swallowing hard, she finally gathers the courage to open her eyes. Soft noises fill her ears, and for a few seconds, Charles doesn't realize she's awake.

Awake and watching him.

He's getting ready for the day, grabbing his shirt from the floor and heading to the cabinet where he'd locked the weapons away last night. After retrieving one of his blades, he locks the cabinet again and turns around.

His eyes are suddenly on hers, and her blood runs cold. She looks away just as he clenches his jaw. He'd been meaning to watch her in her sleep for a moment, so? That definitely counts as another small victory, and she tries not to smirk in triumph.

A hiss of pain escapes her lips as she moves to sit up on the bunk. All that harshness from last night has left a few marks, and it will probably be a couple of days until she's completely healed. But it doesn't matter, she won't whine about this.

As soon as her naked chest is revealed to him, his fingers tighten around the fabric of the shirt. Then he turns his back to her, setting the dagger on the desk and putting the garment on.

"I have a request."

Scowling at her own voice, she massages her throat softly as Charles looked at her over his shoulder.

"What happened to your voice?"

It hurts like a bitch when she swallows. When was the last time she got sick?

"I suppose I have fallen ill..."

_...Your lovely accommodations have probably contributed to that._

She bites back the snarky comment, reminding herself she needs to avoid antagonizing him at all costs right now.

_Fuck, is it hard..._

"I want you to move the girl to a proper cabin."

He raises an eyebrow, turning around to face her fully, and she mentally kicks herself. It's difficult to keep her tone neutral. She's used to giving orders all the time...

Lowering her eyes as some sort of apology that only Charles can detect, she bites her lower lip softly.

It kills her, but she has no other choice here...

"I mean... If it's  _possible_ , I would be very grateful if you did it. Once she wakes up and realizes I'm gone, she will probably panic. I don't like to think about her all alone down there... Especially considering the fact that we once saw a spider crawling near the cells. Poor child, she was terrified."

The left corner of his lips twitches up. Briefly, humor flashes in his eyes.

" _Only_  the child?"

They both revisit the past for a moment. They both remember the time when she sought him out, this fearful look in her wide eyes. And they also remember the rare sound of his laughter, when she asked him to kill the "huge" spider in her office.

She heaves a sigh, keeping his eyes bravely. A small part of her just wishes they could go back to that point in time. Everything was just...

_Easier. Lighter._

Her requested is never even addressed.

There's a knock on the door of the captain's quarters, and immediately, he's just leaving her alone. But even as she hears him locking the door from the outside, imprisoning her like a wild animal, she smirks.

He didn't take her back to the brig. Her spot on his bed is officially secured again. And from here, she can  _easily_ sneak her way back into his heart.

After that, after this whole mess is over and she's safe, she'll recover her dignity... and make him  _pay_  for all of this, one way or another.

* * *

All eyes come to him as soon as he emerges on deck. All the activity stops, and his jaw clenches hard.

Just as he suspected.

One dark look of warning, and the men go back to their duties. He notices the moment of hesitation, brief as it was.

_A **huge**  warning sign._

"Moved her out of the brig." He begins immediately, his tone firm, just as Jenks opens his mouth to say something. "She's  _sick_. I should have been informed of this. If something happens to the girl-"

"Your cabin, of all places?"

There's too much challenge in his tone; too much for his liking. Eyes narrowed, Charles leads him to an isolated spot near the rail.

"After what she did, I need to keep a close eye on her."

"There is a difference between  _that_  and..." He glances back in the direction of the cabin, shaking his head. "...allowing her to get too close to you again. She'll ruin everything-"

"If she tries anything, I kill her myself."

He makes sure to keep his voice cold, rage burning in his eyes. "It's the same fate reserved for anyone else who tries to cross me."

The warning is clear as day in his words and he turns around, heading below deck without another word.

His brain is working already.

He better keep an eye on that one. If a mutiny begins, Jenks will surely be the one leading it. He needs to find a way to conquer the crew's full trust, and he needs to do it  _quick_.

As soon as he opens the door, there's a gasp of fright from the teenage girl shrinking in a corner of her cell.

"What did you do to her?"

He's actually surprised by her courage.

Walking all the way over to the cell, he nearly smirks when the poor thing tries to look all over the place for something she could use to defend herself.

"She's ill. Your father wouldn't like for you to be contaminated now, would he?"

A slight frown comes to her delicate face, and he notices that her cheeks are clean now. Eleanor must have helped her get rid of the dirt somehow.

Seeing this side of her, so new... It does  _something_  to him. He had no idea she possessed such a protective instinct over younger, vulnerable people.

_Almost like a maternal instinct..._

That line of thought is  _very_  dangerous, so he quickly puts an end to it.

"That... does  _not_  answer my question, Captain... With all due respect."

The girl's interesting. He sees something below that polished surface. Sort of a weak fire, yearning to be stoked. She probably has the potential to become so much more than this little proper doll, stuffed into corsets and raised to be nothing more than a pretty face.

It's a shame they have to throw her right back into that world. He actually hopes she'll have the strength to break free from those chains and become something  _else_.

But she'll have to do it by herself. Maybe this whole experience will give her some motivation, help her see there's so much more out there, so much more than the stupid reality that's been forced down her throat ever since the moment she was born a woman.

Or maybe she'll only be traumatized and seek refuge in said stupid reality.

Either way, it doesn't really matter, does it?

"She's alive, if that's what you're asking. For now. Once we return you to the safety of your father's arms, I decide what I'm going to do with her."

This little smile tugs at her lips, something shining in her pretty doe eyes. He hears it when she whispers the words " _I told her._ "

Unsure what she meant by that, and deciding to just shrug it off, he pulls the string over his head. The keys jingle in the air, and Abigail's smile falls immediately.

"Get up and come with me." He says, unlocking and opening the gate. She doesn't move a muscle, staring up at him like an abused dog, too scared to come any closer.

He just wants to walk over to her and grab a hold of her arm before dragging her out of the cell. His patience is already gone and the day has barely even started. But treating her with violence would bring nothing good, and the last thing he wants here is a crying teenager.

So he reins in his anger, carefully walking over to her shrinking form and holding out his hand.

"I mean no harm. Just need to move you to proper accommodations, so you can have some privacy to wash up."

She swallows hard, staring at his hand for a few moments before finally gathering the courage and making a decision.

Her own hand trembles as she lifts it from her lap, and she flinches when her cold palm touches his. As gently as he can, Charles helps her to her feet.

She's silent as he leads her through the corridors, although she does jump in fear whenever an occasional crew member walks past them.

It's a relief when they finally reach the door to her new cabin.

It's small, but it's the one closest to his own. And there's enough room for the wooden bathtub the men will provide her with by nightfall.

And there's also a hammock.

"Better than sleeping on a pile of rags?"

She doesn't answer, walking into the small space and looking all around it. The hems of her skirts are all torn and covered in dirt.

"You will have warm water tonight. Take a nice bath. I will also bring you some clean clothes we found down at the storage room."

Again, there isn't any sort of response from her. She seems almost conflicted, but whatever is troubling her, he doesn't care. Just as he's about to leave her alone, however, her soft voice fills his ears.

"No one caused me any real harm. During my time under your... custody. The things my father used to tell me... The  _monsters_  he talked about..." She meets his eyes slowly, a strange look on her face. He could swear it's some form of twisted admiration. "...are just  _men_ , after all, are they not?"

He keeps her stare for a few moments, considering her in silence.

It really  _is_  a shame; the fact that they must throw this girl back to the wolves.

"You're almost home. Be sure to look presentable."

With that, he closes the door, quickly locking it before turning around and heaving a sigh.

Just like he did after their first conversation back at the fort, Charles stands there for a moment, frowning to himself. His eyes then go to the door at the end of the corridor.

Did she go back to sleep after he left? Or is she sorting through their friend Low's bookshelf?

_Is she still in pain?_

It's actually hard to battle against the urge to check up on her. Sailing with this woman had always been one of his biggest dreams. Now it's happening...

_Too bad it has to be under such circumstances._

* * *

"The last time violence was used as a resource, I saw an innocent woman walking down the road, holding her dead son in her arms."

His eye roll is automatic and he looks at the woman sitting across the small table, exhaustion and stress written all over his face.

"She's been through enough. It's our duty, our  _obligation_  to make sure there will be no more damage to her fragile mind. We don't even know what they are doing to her on that ship, for Christ's sake!"

"I don't think they are harming her in any way." He declares slowly, looking around the unfamiliar cabin and grimacing, once more, at how miserable it is.

Just like the rest of this vessel, in truth.

Sometimes he almost regrets this, he almost wishes they were traveling on the man-o-war. But his gut keeps telling him this was the right choice.

This band of idiots... their captain recently killed in a very stupid way. They'd arrived at the island roughly a month ago and he had never paid them much mind. But as soon as dawn came that day, and he realized that the plan had failed, he decided they needed a disguise in order to retrieve their key to success.

Suddenly, this miserable ship and her sorry excuse of a crew seemed like a blessing from the skies.

With just a few words, he earned their full trust and cooperation.

These are all young, gullible men, after all. And he, well, he was some sort of hero in their eyes. As soon as he approached them that morning, laying down his terms and openly asking them for their help, he became Peter Pan and they were the Lost Boys.

Even though the ship is not exactly in her best shape, she has potential. They'd been falling behind on purpose, but today, things have finally changed. When the sun comes up on the horizon tomorrow, he'll probably be able to see the Fancy too. And those savages won't suspect a thing when they spot this unfamiliar vessel.

They won't suspect a thing, when this unknown crew gives chase. It will probably be an easy prize in their eyes, and since they think they're winning, their confidence will speak louder.

Vane will have no way to know that, while his men board this ship, the real threat will be waiting below decks, hidden in a secret room.

It will be one hell of a surprise.

Or at least that's what it was supposed to be.

Miranda has been giving him a hard time, suddenly against any form of violence because of the dead boy she saw. He knows she's blaming herself, and she's now urging him to come up with a new plan.

She also knows exactly how to play dirty, too.

"Do you think this is what  _he_ would want you to do?"

The question has been torturing him for three days straight, and now he's finally caving. Finally thinking about new strategies, and they have so little time...

"The new men will pretend to surrender. And while those savages are loading everything to their vessel..." He begins, rubbing his forehead and meeting John's eyes. "Someone will need to sneak their way into the bowels of the ship, somehow, to go in search of her. Unseen. It will be the middle of the night, so-"

"I already told you I'll do it." They all look at Billy, who had been completely silent up to now. "Unless you have a better suggestion?"

After considering him in silence for a few seconds, Flint nods slightly. "Careful so no one will recognize you. Be sure to talk to her and calm her down, show her that she can trust you. Once you do, fire your gun and find somewhere to hide with her. Once we hear this signal, we attack."

Miranda gives him a look of disapproval and he shrugs. "There's no way anyone will be able to transfer her to this thing, unnoticed. But at least this plan will save us the trouble of risking our lives on a violent approach. And if they're caught off guard, our chances go up."

She glares at him for a couple of seconds longer, then sighs heavily. When she speaks, her words directed at Billy, he frowns in confusion.

"If you happen to find Eleanor, be sure to subdue her."

"What?"

Her eyes return to his. It's her turn to shrug, the corners of her lips twitching up.

"Hostage. Just in case someone finds our hero and Abigail while you're all busy on a killing spree. Something tells me their captain will be far more reasonable, while someone is holding a gun to his blonde treasure's head."

"What if he doesn't give a damn?"

She raises an eyebrow, scoffing at him. "I  _know_ that they care about one another, deep down. I know hidden attraction when I see it... In fact, I believe I have been seeing a  _lot_  of that, lately..."

He's the only one who notices it when she steals a glance at John, this wicked, knowing glint in her eyes as she challenges him silently. Just as he scowls at her, knowing exactly what she was hinting at, somebody else enters the cabin. The familiar grave voice fills their ears immediately, and somehow, Flint just knows what's in his mind.

"Should any of them be captured, when the fight ends-"

"Just ask what you really want to know."

Stopping in his tracks, the former slave frowns at him. "Excuse me?"

"You just want to know what I plan on doing to  _her_."

After a moment of silence, he heaves a sigh, closing the distance to the desk. "I have strong reasons to believe she is a prisoner in that ship."

"Prisoner or not, she failed me."

"You and I both know Richard was wrong. She did  _not_  mean for this to happen-"

"I understand. But it did. I trusted her, with something very important, and she failed." He shakes his head, not liking this any more than Scott, but principles are principles. "That may not call for a punishment as harsh as betrayal does, but still..."

Flint sees in his eyes the despair of a father. An instinct to  _protect_ , somewhat dormant now that he's not that close to the girl he raised anymore. But it seems that just the prospect of seeing her in such danger is already enough to reawaken that urge.

"She will make herself useful to you again-"

"I apologize, but I have no interest whatsoever in helping that woman-"

"- _Somehow_. You  _know_  she will, sooner or later. She can redeem herself. If you grant her asylum when the time comes-"

"And what makes you think she won't prefer to remain under Vane's protection, rather than mine?"

Silence reigns after he says those words, both men staring at each other across the desk.

The other three people in the cabin just watch, no one daring to even try and step in.

"I know her. And don't forget that, to a certain degree... You do as well." Something that resembles sorrow flickers through his dark eyes briefly, and Scott sighs heavily. "She will choose whoever is winning, and I trust that will be  _you_."

Finally, Flint looks away from his face. His eyes automatically meet John's and the younger man frowns at him, shaking his head slightly, his lips a tight line.

They communicate without words. And the sliver of hope that had come to Scott's eyes fades away when his captain looks at him again, merely nodding towards the door.

He wants to say so much more. To  _try_  much harder. It's clear as the light of day.

But he doesn't.

Defeat and a little bit of despair are written all over his face as he stands there, hesitating,  _torn_ , before finally obeying the silent order and leaving the cabin.

* * *

Her heart aches and she finds herself missing  _him_ , yet again.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Eleanor swallows hard. Her eyes stare out one of the windows, and she wonders how far behind their pursuers are.

They could be right there, on the horizon, but due to the moonless night, she cannot see their ship.

Does he even care about what's going to happen to her? Is he even worried at all? Maybe not. Maybe he'll be happy to be finally rid of her.

_The man she came so close to accepting as a new father, so many times throughout the years-_

Fighting back tears, she steps away from the window. Their story is over. They had their moments, but it's over. Scott probably doesn't give a damn about her anymore, so she shouldn't be thinking about him either.

Turning around, she heads over to the bookshelf again, bored out of her mind by now.

And her stomach is growling.

That idiot seems to have forgotten about her. He didn't even bring her anything to eat all day.

To make things even worse, her clothes aren't exactly dry yet, so here she is again. Wearing nothing but his long sleeved shirt, stuck in this place, freaked out by the  _huge_  blood stains in the center of the cabin... She can't  _believe_ Charles didn't even bother to clean that up after severing that bastard's head.

_Of course not, it's probably just another trophy to him..._

Scoffing to herself, she begins to analyze the book spines and covers for what's probably the 50th time. Low was mental, but he seemed to have a decent taste for literature, at least.

She's surprised he could even read. These books aren't here for nothing... She sees a  _pattern_. Similar themes.

These are probably from the many ships he'd plundered over the years and she runs her fingers over the deceased psychopath's personal treasures, feeling all those different textures-

Her blood suddenly runs cold, a shudder traveling through her body. Her hand stops, and she squints to make out the words on this particular book spine.

She hadn't noticed this one before...

_Voyage Round the World._

Why is it so hard to breathe, all of a sudden? Why does the air feel thicker, almost poisonous to her lungs?

This one is new. She has the feeling it was recently " _acquired_ "... Where in the world did Low get it? She'd never heard about it before, and she's a real book lover.

Eleanor brushes her fingertips over the author's name, frowning to herself, wanting to grab the book and take a look at its contents-

The door opens, bringing her back to reality, and she hastily pulls her hand away from the bookshelf.

As soon as she stops touching _that name_ , everything goes back to normal. It's easy to breathe again, and that unpleasant feeling begins to dissipate like smoke in the air as she stares at Charles' face.

_It's just like waking up from a really bad dream._

She soon notices he's brought their dinner, and her stomach growls again. If he hears it, he decides not to tease her about it in any way. She's almost grateful for that.

There's nothing but creaking wood and crashing waves outside as they eat, a plain meal of bread and meat, but it's already heaven for her.

"You really are skilled in the art of manipulation." He finally breaks the silence, soon after they're done eating, and she scowls at him.

"What?"

Her eyes follow his every move as he gets to his feet, heading over to the cabinet and grabbing a half-full bottle of rum.

"As soon as she saw me, the girl asked about you."

"You went to see her."

He just meets her eyes across the table, briefly, while sitting back down on his chair. She immediately realizes what that look means.

"Oh." With the ghost of a smile on her lips, she shakes her head. "I wasn't  _actually_  expecting you to-"

"We can't deliver damaged goods. And I had been planning to move her from the brig already. Had nothing to do with your request. We're getting closer to our destination now, and her father could be preparing an unpleasant surprise for us. That's why I need to gain her confidence. Drag her to my side. It could help matters." He doesn't bother with glasses, merely bringing the bottle up to his lips and taking a few gulps. "Good strategy to earn your prisoner's trust and with some luck, their admiration too. Treating them coldly at first, then suddenly giving them all the comfort they yearn for."

She narrows her eyes at that. He offers her the bottle and her fingers brush against his as she accepts it carefully.

"Who taught you that?"

He hesitates. She notices the way his right fist clenches between them, on the surface of the table.

"Him."

Immediately, she averts her eyes, knowing exactly what he meant by that.

Where in the world could that man be by now? All she knows is that she never wants to see his face again. He must hate her to death.

This mention of the old mentor she convinced him to betray seems to make the atmosphere between them even heavier.

Clearing her throat softly, she hands the bottle back to him. Time to change the subject, and she's been hungry for news all day.

"The crew?"

The look that comes to his eyes already lets her she won't like whatever it is he has to say.

"At first glance, nothing's changed. But it's the small things... The looks of disdain when they think I'm distracted. The split second of hesitation whenever I give an order. How they keep looking at  _Jenks_  behind my back."

She was expecting this already, of course. And fuck, that man has got to go. She already hates his guts...

"That's why I didn't come here the whole day, not even to feed you. It would have made things even worse."

"What do you plan on doing about that?"

_How do you plan on keeping them away from **me?**_

"The only two options I could come up with, so far... We either find a use for you, or..."

His fist clenches again. He breaks eye contact and she frowns, a shiver going down her spine already.

"...Or?"

"Public punishment. Flogging should do."

She keeps expecting him to chuckle, to say it was just a joke. A bad, stupid joke.

But he never does, and she swallows hard.

The delicate skin on her back, all shredded... Open, ghastly wounds like the ones he once bore.

If this is the only way out, she'll rather jump overboard and swim all the way back to the island. Or die trying.

He probably knows that. He probably knows that if it comes down to it, it'll be better to just throw her into the ocean. Would he try to keep this scenario from playing out? Would he be  _capable_  of doing to her what was done to him?

She does  _not_ think he would have the guts. He already seems so disturbed, just from speaking about the possibility...

"How much longer? Until we reach her father's home?"

"Less than a couple of days."

Disappointment flashes in her eyes just as he looks at her again.

"What's wrong?"

"What happens, once we arrive? After... Business is properly dealt with, what happens? What happens to you? Do you think her father is just going to let us go without a fight?"

All her questions go unanswered, and each second he spends watching her in silence only angers her even further.

"Did you  _ever_  receive word back from Lord Ashe, at least?"

"Why should it matter?"

Unable to keep herself from scoffing, she leans forward, glaring daggers at him as if they were back in her office. Except this time, he's the one on the big chair across the table, and she shouldn't be challenging him like this.

"It matters because he could be waiting for you with blazing guns and-"

"For a woman who was ready to seal my death sentence barely a  _week_  ago, you seem awfully concerned now."

She falls silent, the tough look fading away almost immediately.

"Because it's not just  _my_  safety at risk now, is it?"

_Oh shit._

"Don't think I didn't notice what you're trying to do here. You've managed to blind me for too long, but that's over now. I know you too well. And you're an  _idiot_  for thinking that I wouldn't see how unlikely your sudden behavior is. Masks have  _never_  worked with me."

Straightening up, she removes her elbows from the desk. Her eyes never leave his.

"You're terrified, aren't you? Terrified of what the men will do to you, what  _Flint_  will do, if something happens to me. If I'm not around to act as a fortress wall between you and them anymore." Drinking some more, he keeps analyzing her. Seeing right through her as he always did. It's very uncomfortable, and she shifts in her seat when the corners of his lips twitch up into that dark half smirk she knows so well. "Makes me wonder. Had I really been killed that night at the fort, how much longer would it have been before your  _choices_  cornered you into a dead end, with no one who  _cared_ enough... To save your life? Or do you think it would suffice? Finding a proper, civilized husband once those hypocritical bastards claimed our home as theirs?"

All she wants is to tear him to pieces. Tear him to pieces for always rubbing everything in her face. He's the only one who does it all the time, never caring how much it will hurt her. And fuck, she  _hates_  him so much for it.

"Putting on a mask and betraying everything you are. Would probably be easy enough at first, but... How much longer until you suffocated to death? How much longer until you  _killed_  yourself... all for trying to fit into a world that will  _never_  be yours?"

Strangely, now she wants to cry. His words have touched her deeply, and she has no idea why.

Never breaking eye contact, she gets to her feet and slowly makes her way around the table.

Charles clenches his jaw hard, glaring daggers at her. "Keep the threats away. It's what I've been doing since that blasted moment, the  _damned_  moment when we met."

She comes to a stop right beside his chair, noticing the way his eyes softened a little.

When he speaks again, his tone is not so aggressive anymore.

"But how can I continue to do so, if the threat is  _you_?"

Her breath catches and she just hopes he didn't notice it. Feeling the unwelcome burn of tears, she looks away from him. Her eyes land on the blood stains on the floor and he follows her stare, silence reigning supreme for a few moments.

"He nearly got the upper hand."

All that gratitude comes back, so suddenly. For a moment she feels just as thrilled as she did back on that night, staring at her enemy's severed head.

He barely puts up any resistance when she unceremoniously settles down on his lap. His shirt is gone and she brings her fingers to the healing wound on his arm. Yet another evidence of what he did for her.

She realizes this is an unique time in their story. Right now, she can give in to him. Just like a part of her always wanted to do. She has an excuse now. She's just following her plans...

"If I'm keeping you alive through this shit, it's because I want to. You don't need to put up a fucking  _act_ -"

"Well perhaps I just want to do this. To  _enjoy_ this..." She swallows hard, bringing her bandaged hand up to his face. Her fingertips trace his jawline softly. "...while I  _can.._. We don't know what could be waiting for us at Charles Town."

She's not sure whether that was sincere, or if she just said it to inflict some more damage to the walls surrounding his heart.

Either way, he doesn't shut her out. The attempt is successful. Just another proof that she's winning, even though he knows exactly what game she's playing here... She's still winning. And that's all that really matters to her.

_Or is it?_

The warmth of his body. The soothing rocking of the ship. This sweet lullaby of creaking wood and crashing waves she's learning to love...

Even though she tries hard to keep her eyes open, it's impossible not to nod off.

And when she wakes up, he's carrying her over to the bunk. She pretends to be asleep as he carefully places her on the mattress, but when he makes a move to go to the hammock, her fingers seek his in the dark.

He stops as soon as she grasps his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, she finally feels the mattress dipping under his weight. Moving on her side to give him more room, she never lets go of his fingers. His front is soon pressed to her back, the narrow bunk forcing them close together.

She pulls his hand to her chest, intertwining their fingers together. This stubborn little smile plays on her lips as he inhales the scent of her hair, relaxing at last.

He's had a tough day. So it's not too long before his breathing turns even and deep. Now that he's asleep, she presses a kiss to his knuckles, sighing to herself. He's sleeping, but if shit goes down, he'll be awake and in combat mode immediately. Ready to defend himself... and  _her_ , as always.

For a brief moment, she actually wishes everything could work out. That they could just stay together like this, no matter what.

But it's impossible. Things are too messy and there is no way they will have a happy ending. Eleanor always knew they wouldn't, anyway.

So she better cherish this for now... and start preparing for real life again, once dawn comes.


	5. Independence

_And I'm stating my independence,_

_Gonna take the road I'm gonna take,_

_And I'm gonna make my own mistakes,_

_I'm the one who's running my life,_

_I decide._

* * *

_"...and pieces of Skins on their feet to keep them from the ground. They are very active and nimble, and when about Business go quite naked; only the Women have a piece of Skin before them, and differ from the Men in Habit only by want of Caps, and having Bracelets of Shells about their Necks."_

Touching her own neck, she tries to picture it all in her mind. It seems like fiction; this strange world she's never even dreamed of seeing. To think that it's actually just as real as the busy streets back home...

Her heart skips a beat as she turns the page, eyes hungrily skimming over the next words.

_"They seem to have no manner of Government nor Religion, live by Hunting and Fishing, and are arm'd with Bows and Arrows; the latter 18 Inches long, and headed with Flint Stones."_

Her mind conjures the images perfectly; naked warriors, hunting and fighting against their enemies...

This is all she's been doing today, since dawn broke. Reading and daydreaming about these places, these places she never got to visit.

_Spend enough time on an island, begin to forget there's a whole world out there._

She just has to scoff quietly.

He was right, in the end.

Such a vast world. And she spent so long focusing on just a tiny little dot in the midst of this huge sea of possibilities.

It's not like she regrets it. She doesn't.  _At all_. It may be just a little dot, but it's  _her_  little dot and she wouldn't trade it for the world. But still, right now, it just feels as if there's _so much_  she's missing out on...

So she seeks it all in these pages... and it's  _not_ enough.

She just hopes this sudden fire will die down over the next few days. She's not a nomad by any means. Or even a sailor. And once she makes it back home, she's not leaving its warm,  _familiar_  safety, ever again.

No. The closest she'll ever get to traveling the world, to visiting such distant, breathtaking places, is  _this_. Lying on a bunk, in the captain's quarters of a pirate ship, and letting Rogers' book tell her all about the wonders she will never see with her own eyes.

It  _is_  better like this. She knows it.

Continuing her reading, she soon finds out what's the name of this particular place, the one filled with people so peculiar. Her index finger trails over the words.

_"...Elizabeth-Isle, which lies near the second narrow."_

"Elizabeth-Isle." She says to herself, quirtly, feeling like a awestruck young girl.

_"I have insisted the longer on these Straits, partly because they are so much talk'd of, and partly to justify our going to the South-Seas by the way of Cape Horn, which is far more safe: so that in all probability the Straits of Magellan will be little frequented by Europeans in time to come."_

Nodding at the words, as if the author was actually here telling her all these things in person, she sighs. It's heavy, long and...

_Dreamy?_

She really needs to  _stop_.

_"The land on the North side of the Straits is call'd Patagonia, and that of the South Tierra del Fuego, because of the numerous fires-"_

It's a funny coincidence. Just as she reads that last word, a fire of an entirely different kind bursts into the small cabin, causing her to jump slightly.

She wasn't expecting him this early.

"Charles?"

Not even sparing her a glance, he walks over to the cabinet near the table. Sitting up on the mattress, she watches as he retrieves his gun and cutlass. An unpleasant feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.

" _What_  is going on out there?"

Finally turning around, he eyes the book in her hands for a moment before focusing back on her face.

"It's an easy one."

It actually takes her a moment to understand what he meant by that. But as soon as she does, she  _really_  wants to strangle him.

"That is  _not_  what you're supposed to be doing right now!" Setting the book aside, she hastily gets to her feet. "Jesus, can't you even wait until we are on our way back home? What if something goes wrong?"

Completely unimpressed, he locks the cabinet and heads to the door. "I know what I'm doing."

"Charles,  _no_ -"

"This is  _not_  your domain."

She scowls at his warning tone as he faces her again. One of his eyebrows is raised and they watch each other for a tense moment before he finally leaves.

The faint sound of a key turning in the lock reaches her ears and she clenches her jaw hard.

He leaves this door locked, especially during daytime when he's away, but she knows that it's to keep the men out of here. After all, she has no interest in taking a tour of the ship.

_But now._

She knows he's making sure she won't try to follow him, to  _stop_  his plans.

So he just locked her up in this cabin, as if she's an animal. A misbehaving child.

A sound of frustration leaves her lips as she turns around and punches the hard book cover, her fist landing right on the author's name.

_**Damn it,**  the wound she got back at the tunnels has yet to heal completely-_

Her eyes fall closed and she curses under her breath, cradling her poor hand to her chest.

There's some commotion out on the deck already. She hears his voice, shouting orders and commands about sails and masts, none of which she fully comprehends.

Dropping back to the mattress, she huffs impatiently.

Now all there's left for her to do is pray that nothing will go wrong... And despite her mother's best efforts, she never really had the habit to talk to unseen Gods, saints or angels, so all she can really do is sit here and fume.

_Hate you._

Yes, she fucking  _hates_  him.

* * *

Wood creaks, insistently, all around them. He's seen a rat or two down here by now, but it's no surprise. Of course this miserable vessel would be infested.

_This idea better work._

"Maybe if I hold a gun to her head-"

"No." His response comes too abruptly, his voice mixing with Miranda's. The tone she used was far more energetic than his though.

Stepping away from the wall and closer to their isolated little group, he shakes his head at Billy.

"No. They know we have no interest in hurting her. It wouldn't work to our favor."

"Then  _what_  do you suggest?"

_What, indeed?_

So far, he's been doing the best he could. His plans will spare them all of a violent approach. Which means the girl won't be at risk. But there's no way for him to foresee what will happen once those savages realize they were just gifted a trojan horse.

He's not stupid, he knows there's no way to solve this all with amicable conversation and alcohol. They will have the element of surprise, of course, and they're also in advantage. He has double the men Vane does, after all.

_But will it be enough?_

It  _has_ to be.

A slaughter will take place. There's no other way. Only then they will be able to continue their journey, Abigail safely under his custody.

He knows that there are risks. It doesn't escape his mind that these same savages managed to kill an entire crew not three weeks ago.

_Element of surprise._

This time, they're the ones who have it.

Again, will it suffice?

He needs a plan B. He needs a  _guarantee_  that if things get ugly during the upcoming battle, they will still have a chance at success.

A chance to have maybe not the men, but their  _captain_  in the palm of his hand. A chance to solve this in another manner. To subdue that beast, to  _dominate_ him.

Which would be damn impossible, unless,  _maybe_ -

"Eleanor."

Miranda nearly spits the name out as if it's toxic poison on her tongue. It's just loud enough for some of the men to hear, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scott turning around to look at her.

She'd suggested it before. He didn't pay her much mind. After all, they have no idea what happened to that woman. Hell, for all they know, Vane could have killed her already.

_Unlikely._

Just as unlikely as this idea is to work.

Even if they threaten her life, even if they swear to slit her throat right before her -  _former?_  - lover's eyes, would he give a damn?

He's familiar with their story, as every other person in that island is. He  _knows_  the lenghts Vane went to keep that woman safe, or merely  _happy_.

But so much has changed. After what she tried to do, would he still be willing to put her well being above his own interests? He could have no problem sacrificing her life in order to stick to his goals.

There's no way to know. Still, there's a small chance this could actually work.

_And it's better than nothing._

Scott reaches their little group of four, just as his eyes meet John's.

"Oh no. No, no way. It's already risky enough for one person to sneak below decks to search for the girl, how in the world am I supposed to go look for-"

"Once they fall into our trap, it will be pure chaos. Should be easy to go in unnoticed. Besides, they are outnumbered. They're 41. We're 83 in total. In theory, it is perfectly possible."

"' _In theory_ '-"

"Just be sure to wait until all of the men are busy fighting for their lives. Two of ours for each of theirs. And I got Vane. The two of you will be fine."

Jaw set, John looks as if he wants to argue for a moment. But then he sighs in defeat, shrugging at the older man and forcing a sarcastic half smirk.

"Where could she be?"

"Search for locked doors. She will either be with Abigail, or in the captain's quarters."

"Why-" John asks, frowning briefly before making a face that borders on disgust. "Of course."

"Meet up with Billy, once you have both of them. We will probably be winning the battle by that time. Either way, try this strategy. Keep her well restrained, I don't care how, and hold a gun to her head. I will make sure Vane sees that."

There's some silence then, as they all reflect upon how wonderfully well things can go... Or the disasters that could be waiting for them.

"Is things go south, do I have permission to shoot her?"

For some reason, Flint meets Scott's eyes instead of answering.

He dares not say a word, but the silent pleading is there, clear as the light of day.

The silent  _despair_ too.

Flint shakes his head before speaking, still looking at the former's slave face.

"No."

He can only describe the look in those dark eyes as the one a father has, right after learning that his child is safe and sound.

"What I need is to have some control over Vane. As long as her life is in danger, there's the chance he will be ready to do as we say. But if we murder her..."

"You don't want to know what he would be capable of." Scott speaks up, his voice strangely calm. As if he's absolutely sure of the words he's saying. "Wouldn't surprise me if he killed all of us, alone, in a fit of rage."

Well, he  _does_  know the dynamics between these two far better than any of them. He's the one who watched that... strange relationship be born, he was the one who -  _uselessly_  - tried to keep a younger Eleanor away from the pirate, he was the one who failed miserably at that but still watched them like a hawk.

_So if he's saying..._

Perhaps their chances are actually higher than he initially thought and Miranda's idea could work perfectly...

"Well, isn't dysfunctional love a beautiful thing?"

They can hear the sarcasm dripping from John's voice, and Miranda lets out a soft chuckle. There's a hint of malice in her eyes as she looks from the younger man to Flint.

"Indeed."

What's  _wrong_  with her?

She needs to stop doing this, before someone else other than him notices.

He does glare at her in warning, but just a second later, one of the men from this sad vessel he's conquered opens the door to their little hiding place below decks.

Instantly, Flint is crossing the room to meet him, eager for some news.

The scrawny thing, barely a man yet, stares up at him. His eyes are filled with admiration and he stutters a little before finally managing to speak.

"They gave chase."

He can't help but let the corners of his lips twitch up for a moment.

* * *

Charles needs to stop and do a double take, as soon as he opens the door and sees her.

She looks a lot different. Her dirty, torn skirts are gone, she's now wearing the clothes they provided her with, and her hair is also perfectly clean.

Now, she looks more like the proper lady she was always raised to be.

Ready to be returned to that nest of snakes.

_Poor child._

Sitting in the hammock, she fidgets with the fabric of her skirts as he steps further into the cabin.

"There could be some commotion up there. Within the next hour. Don't be scared."

Her eyebrows furrow together and she tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy.

"What is going on?"

"We'll be hunting a prize."

He's not certain what sort of reaction he'd been expecting. But it definitely wasn't  _this_.

Something shines in her doe eyes and she smiles softly.

"Really? Just like the stories people tell?"

He just told her they will be plundering a ship, in waters so close to her father's home.

And she's  _excited_  about it.

He ends up offering her a half smirk before turning around to walk to the door.

"A little more boring, maybe."

"Captain?"

Stopping in his tracks, he looks at her over his shoulder. She straightens up, going from child to grown woman in just a couple of seconds.

"Once this is resolved, I would like to speak to you. It concerns my father."

His interest is piqued. He turns to face her fully again.

"What about him?"

"Eleanor said that captain Flint is probably pursuing us, correct?"

"He is. But we have yet to see any signs of him."

She nods, choosing her next words carefully. Her fingers are now clasped together, hands resting over her lap. Her posture is so impeccably straight that it almost makes him sick.

"I have something to tell you. Something that both you and captain Flint should be made aware of. It's of dire importance, believe me."

At first, he feels like just shrugging it off. But something in his gut is telling him he should listen to her.

"I'll come back in a few hours then."

"Thank you."

Just as he's about to close the door, her voice stops him again.

"Captain?"

It's almost irksome. She's probably about to demand something else-

"Good luck."

He's too stunned even to frown.

The excited child is back. There's a smile he can only describe as sincere on her lips, she's now using her feet to rock the hammock softly, and he raises an eyebrow at her before closing the door.

It's the third time she does this, the third time he stands in front of the door, speechless and confused, after sharing a conversation with this kid.

So he was right. There is so much more to this girl than they initially thought. As he thought, there's a fire beneath that polished surface, and he has the feeling it's been stoked. Thanks to the time she's been spending out of her own world.

_It seems Peter will have a problem in his hands, once his little girl comes home._

A half smirk plays on his lips.

Yes, that idiot will definitely have a problem.

And Charles actually finds himself hoping he won't be able to solve it.

* * *

The sun is going down outside.

Up to this point, things have been relatively calm. So it seems she was worried for nothing. The other crew probably surrendered easily. She hears the men transferring goods from one ship to the other, though she can't see the vessel whenever she stares out the window.

Soon, there's nothing but quietness. She assumes they're all aboard the other ship.

Getting new crewmembers, perhaps. Charles once told her this is something they do, from times to times.

Heaving a sigh, she lets her eyes drop to the book, now forgotten at the foot of the bunk. She tried to distract herself with it, after Charles left. But it was impossible.

Strangely, she suddenly found she couldn't stand to read it anymore. At least for today.

All the scenarios that come to life as she reads those pages are interesting as fuck, but something about the way Rogers writes...

It makes her feel as if he's such an arrogant, egotistical ass, and she has no patience for that. She's a seasoned reader, and while he seems like a formidable seafarer and leader, he's  _not_ that good of a writer at times.

Still, the wonders he tells her about... Those pages are so tempting.

_She will just continue her reading tomorrow._

When the sun disappears in the horizon, she gets to her feet. It will be dark in the cabin soon, and she has no idea how long Charles is going to take out there. She could be already asleep by the time he finally decides to come back, so she better light one or two oil lamps already. Maybe she could find something else to read-

When it happens, her eyes go wide and she freezes.

A war just broke out. As if suddenly, many more people appeared out of nowhere. There are screams, splashes, even gunshots. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the desk, eyes already looking all around for anything she could use as a weapon,  _just in case_.

Her brain is trying to work, but right now, confusion is getting the best of her.

What the  _fuck_ is going on?

* * *

The silence was broken all of a sudden, by a ghastly scream. After that, there was so much tumult, and she shrunk into a corner while listening to the sounds of a  _war_.

Her heart is beating frantically in her chest and how she wishes she wasn't wearing her corset. It's even harder to breathe.

She's terrified. Those sounds coming from the deck remind her so much of that  _nightmare_ when that maniac and his men attacked the ship. She feels like she's reliving that hell now, and God, she just wants it to be over.

Is this normal? The captain said it would be boring. He said there could be some commotion, but this is a raging war.

Something is definitely not right up there. Suddenly, she hears the doorknob turning. It causes her to jump, and then her blood freezes.

Somebody is trying to force the door open.

_"You sure?"_

_"Only locked door we found so far. This must be it."_

She can barely hear the voices over that hellish ruckus out there. Hugging her knees to her chest, she can't help but frown.

By now, she has memorized the voices she hears during the day, and...

Whoever is trying to force that door open, he's not from Captain's Vane crew.

_What's going on?_

A choked sound escapes her throat when the door finally gives in. The intruder stands tall and proud, once he recovers his balance. His eyes soon find her and she tries to be invisible in her little corner.

It's impossible not to tremble, though.

He's just barged into the room and he's dressed in black from head to toe. His face is covered by cloth. Only his eyes are visible, and she swallows hard while staring directly at those blue orbs.

A beautiful, light blue. More like the sky than the ocean.

He breaks eye contact after that short second, looking around the small cabin as if searching for someone else.

Only then she notices the presence of another man, standing just a feet behind the taller one.

"Captain's quarters. Must be the door down this hall. Go."

His muffled voice is firm. But not at all frightening like Low's.

She doesn't even spare the shorter man a single look, as he hurriedly leaves the cabin. Her eyes remain trained on the first intruder, and as he comes closer, she uselessly tries to make herself smaller. As if she could still hide from him even now.

.

It's at times like these that he absolutely hates not only his life, but the world in general.

With each step he takes, the girl's fear seems to grow. She reminds him of an abused dog in the streets, her big, innocent doe eyes make his throat dry.

She's just a child. He had no idea she was  _this_  young. The horrors this poor girl must have gone through... He suddenly finds himself hoping that no one violated her, at least.

It shouldn't matter, but for some reason, it does.

And he just wants to make this as easy as possible. She doesn't deserve any more pain. She doesn't even deserve to be here, in the first place. She should be home, safe and sound.

A quiet gasp leaves her lips when he uncovers his face, offering her a smile he hopes is reassuring enough. Then he's crouching down right in front of her.

"Please, don't be scared of me. I mean no harm."

She has a look of disbelief on her face, and he mentally kicks himself. After everything she went through, it's normal for her to be this dubious. This whole experience has probably scarred her for life already, and it's not his stupid words that will heal her young, fragile heart.

So he gives up on that approach, heaving a sigh and deciding to just get down to business already.

"My name is Billy. I came looking for you on captain Flint's behalf-"

"Captain Flint?" She cuts him off abruptly, a strange glint in her eyes. "He's here?"

Her reaction was puzzling, to say the least, but he forces a smile again, nodding curtly. "He is. And we're taking you back home. How does that sound?"

She's not looking at his face anymore. Now her eyes are lowered, as if she's thinking. Even as she speaks again, ignoring his question completely, her stare is fixed to the uneven wood planks that make up the floor.

"The war out there. How will it end?"

He decides to answer as truthfully as he can.

"With the defeat of one of the crews. But Vane is outnumbered. My friend, the one you saw just now, will take miss Guthrie hostage. So we can,  _hopefully_ , stop that mess and go through the men safely."

While watching her, he frowns.

It looks like she's silently planning something. The focused look on her face almost resembles the one Flint has while coming up with strategies.

He barely notices when her gaze shifts from the floor to the gun on his hip.

"I really am the most important person to both crews right now, am I not?"

_Poor thing must be absolutely terrified._

"To them, you're nothing but a coin of trade. To us, you're  _human_. And there is a woman waiting for you below decks, back at the ship captain Flint took. I risk saying that to her, you're a loved one."

He thinks he chose his words well enough.

And his suspicions are confirmed when she meets his eyes again, considerably calmer now.

"Do you promise nothing bad will happen to me?"

_Yes, he did a good job._

"You have my word."

She eyes his hand for a moment, when he offers it to her. Then she's taking it, carefully.

When her sweaty palm meets his, he swallows hard for some reason.

The promise he just made suddenly feels like the most sacred thing in this world. And hell, he  _will_  see it through.

Unable to help himself, he offers her a quick smile. This time, it's sincere. She doesn't let go of his hand even as he guides her to the door.

_He did good..._

Gates would probably be proud of him.

* * *

"Stay the  _fuck_ away from me!"

As soon as the stranger broke into the cabin, she threw the first object she could find at his face, which just happened to be Rogers' book. Her aim was perfect and she took advantage of his moment of weakness to reach for the rum bottle on the table.

It usually breaks her heart to waste good rum, but this time she doesn't think twice before smashing the bottle against the edge of the table. One of the shards fly and hit her skin but she barely even acknowledges the sting, pointing her new weapon towards the strange man.

Her tough attitude doesn't falter, even as he pulls out a gun.

But when the book hit his head, it managed to uncover his face. And as soon as she recognizes those featured shrouded by darkness, she can't help but scoff.

"You have  _got_  to be kidding me."

His gun is pointed at her head as he comes closer, slowly, as if approaching a wild horse.

"Look. He's in disadvantage here. I need you as our hostage, so that we can stop that damn war and transfer the girl to our vessel safely."

She doesn't even hesitate.

"What happens to  _me_  after that?"

He doesn't either.

"Mr. Scott is trying to bargain your safety."

The words go straight to her heart. Her eyes soften just a bit.

"He is?"

"And I assume that if you help us with this, Flint will be willing to forgive you. Might even earn yourself a ride back home."

John's half smirk is nothing but sarcastic and she fights against the urge to roll her eyes, knowing she can't afford even a split second of distraction.

"But if you make things harder, this hell between both crews, both  _captains_ , will continue until death declares the winner. And Lord knows what's going to be our end."

Her brain is running at full speed, she's trying to think of all the scenarios possible, to determine whether he's telling everything she needs to know or not.

"You said Vane is outnumbered. How many are you?"

"83."

Her heart skips a beat and she lowers the broken bottle a little, cursing under her breath. " _Fuck me_."

The shock left by that revelation doesn't last for long and she grips the bottle tighter, her features hardening again.

She speaks before really thinking.

"And what is Flint going to do with him?"

He seems surprised that she even cared enough to ask.

But then again, so is she.

"That's the thing, you see. While we have your life in our hands, I guess nothing keeps us and captain Vane from talking this through like old pals... If he cares enough about you, that is. So you tell me..." Taking another cautious, small step closer, John raises an eyebrow at her. "Does he?"

She swallows hard.

_Does he?_

There's a little voice in her head, whispering a quiet but resolute  _yes_. And deep down, despite everything, she knows she can trust it. Still, she weighs her options for a moment longer.

And then the broken bottle drops from her hand, hitting the wood planks with a dull thud.

* * *

When they stepped out of the captain's quarters, her hands bound behind her back, she immediately caught sight of Abigail. It was actually a relief to see her again, to see that she's safe.  _Strangely_.

Apparently, the girl feels the same way. Her eyes light up as soon as she sees Eleanor.

"Are you alright?" The blonde asks quietly when they're side by side, walking the narrow hallway behind Billy and John.

She nods, with a tight smile. It's almost as if she's nervous about something, and Eleanor frowns at that.

Just as she's considering the idea of asking what's wrong, they emerge out on the deck and her eyes go wide.

Bile rises in her throat.

She spent so long being a part of this world. In a way, she  _is_ a pirate too and she knows it. Everyone does. Even though she never took part in what happens out here. The sea.

Through Charles' stories, she could have a faint image of what went down during these epic battles. But this is the first time she actually  _sees_  this reality with her own eyes, and whatever her expectations were, this is definitely beyond anything she could have possibly imagined.

The war is happening on both ships.

She sees a few corpses already and her nostrils fill with the scent of blood, salt,  _death_. It's a sickening mix, one that's probably so familiar to all these men...

Her eyes skim over the fallen ones. Some from Charles' crew, some from Flint's... And others from that miserable vessel she didn't have the chance to get acquainted with back home? Just what the  _hell_  is going on here?

Pushing those questions to the back of her mind, she finds herself desperately searching for  _him_.

And she can't believe how huge the relief is, when she sees him at the bow, in all his glory. Fighting Flint.

It seems to happen in slow motion. When he notices her presence, when he sees the gun pointed to her head, there's a strange look in his eyes. One she had never seen before.

It actually looks like he's  _scared_.

And they're in the middle of a warfield but she still shrugs, cocking her head to the side briefly and glaring at him across the ship. Giving him her cold, favorite " _I told you so_ " look.

She can never pass up the opportunity, after all.

Under different circumstances, this distraction of his would have been more than enough. She'd probably be watching Flint run him through with the cutlass, and the thought disturbs her far more than it should.

But that scenario never plays out, and suddenly, she realizes just how weird this whole situation is.

Flint and his men should be aiming to kill. Instead, they all seem to be trying to keep the number of deaths to a minimum. Why is he going all the trouble to do this? To using  _her_ as leverage, so that he can achieve his goals while restraining from using violence as much as he possibly can?

She'd understand if this was just a plan B, but he  _clearly_  has the upper hand in this war already, so why?

Is it because of Abigail?

Someone must have convinced him to do things this way, and she has a pretty good guess of who-

She hears, rather than sees, when Abigail springs into action.

Suddenly, Billy's gun is gone from his hip and firmly secured in the girls' grasp as she runs away from them.

Eleanor's heart leaps to her throat when the teenager climbs up on the rail, nearly losing her balance and falling into the ocean but managing to hold on to a rope at the last second.

Somehow, she also manages to cock the gun by herself, having probably learned from watching Low and his men do the same thing.

The war stops immediately, and everyone watches in utter surprise and confusion as she points the weapon to her own head. Before Eleanor can even open her mouth to say something, the girl's speech begins, loud and clear.

"My father says you are all nothing but animals. He says that... the ones he doesn't manage to get rid of always end up destroying one another amongst themselves sooner or later. My whole life, I took that for the absolute truth. But from what I have seen of your world, so far... He could be wrong."

Her voice is uncharacteristically strong, though she stutters from times to times, clearly nervous as hell.

Each time the ship sways, Eleanor  _almost_  prays she won't lose her footing.

"And this is your chance to prove him wrong. To prove  _all of them_ wrong."

Both captains have crossed the ship by now, coming to stand as close as possible to the rail. Most of the men are still gaping at the scene, taken aback by this sudden, unpredictable turn of events.

"Miss Ashe, put the gun down-"

"Stay back!" She practically yells the order at Flint, and he's too stunned to react.

Then she clears her throat, raising her chin and taking a moment to choose her next words.

"Captains. Gentlemen. I am sure that... A conciliation is possible. And if not, then I will dictate the terms myself. I am tired of being nothing more than a pawn in this game of yours."

John scoffs quietly by her side. "You have got to be shitting me-"

" _Shh_." Billy cuts him off harshly, and Eleanor glances at him over her shoulder. Of all the people here, he's the one who has the most surprised look on his face.

She thinks she sees admiration in his eyes too.

And before she can go back to watching Abigail, she notices that someone else is approaching the three of them.

There's the sting of tears in her eyes, brief as it is, as they watch each other. Scott seems just so  _relieved_ , and for a second she feels like a little girl again. This is the very same look he would give her whenever she decided to come back, after spending the whole day out playing in the streets, without his consent.

_Seeing him again, after all that uncertainty and fear..._

Breaking eye contact and getting a hold of her emotions, she focuses her attention back on Abigail.

"This is  _my_ story. It is high time I take control of it myself."

Both captains look at each other. Everyone can sense their frustration and displeasure.

"Shall we speak calmly now?"

Things are tense as a bowstring.

Seeing no other way out, they nod their assent.

Abigail finally comes down from the rail, and Eleanor feels as if she can breathe again.

* * *

**New Providence Island**

**Four days ago**

_Let her meet her fate. The tragic fate she asked for._

Averting his eyes from the light drizzle hitting the coach window, he sighs to himself.

He's currently making his way back to the family estate, having spent the last three or four hours at the cemetery. His knees hurt from kneeling in front of that familiar, lonely tombstone.

It's probably a good thing his wife is gone. At least this means she can't see what her precious little girl has become. Or better yet, what will become of her, now that she's chosen her side.

He should have known Vane would be an obstacle. They shouldn't have trusted her with this. She probably bent so easily under the temptation; caresses, stupid, empty promises of freedom and God knows what else.

Of course he'd heard all about these two, even while he was away. And he can only describe this... relationship of sorts, as utterly  _pathetic_.

It started as nothing more than a way to annoy the hell out of him, he's certain.

Right when she was coming of age, right when he had so many good suitors in mind, she had to go and destroy her valuable virtue with a filthy sea dog's help, frustrating all of the plans he had made for her.

_To get rid of her._

She  _always_  managed to have things her way, after Caroline died. Sometimes he thinks this is her form of revenge, for all those nights when he would tear her mother away from her and leave her locked up in that dark room. Now she wants him to know that she will never allow him to get the upper hand again.

Hopefully Flint will manage to fix this mess she has made. For all their sakes.

His jaw clenches involuntarily and he shakes his head, staring down at his hands.

He just wanted a son. Fate gave him a daughter, and as if to spit in his face, a daughter who's  _broken_. Who thinks she can act like a man.

If only she acted like the proper girl they tried  _so hard_  to raise her to be, he could have actually liked her a little better-

The coach stops so suddenly, he nearly falls from his seat.

Not waiting for an explanation, he reaches for the oil lamp and steps out into the strangely cool, quiet night. Before the coachman can say anything, he understands what caused them to stop.

There's something on the road, just ahead. Squinting, he tries to identify the shadowy figures as they begin to move. His heart is drumming.

But the tension that had been building up fades away when he hears their drunken laughter.

Just a few of these sea outlaws, venturing a little too far inland.

It seems that with his daughter, Flint and Vane gone, this place has spiraled into mayhem all over again. How he hates this bloody hellhole. What does Eleanor see in it? It's impossible to understand.

Crinkling his nose in a show of disgust when the strange men stumble past them, he turns around and gets back in the coach, feeling that a horrible migraine might be in the cards for him during the next few hours...

The road is now clear and the horses are trotting again, as soon as he gives the order.

That night, an ordinary night as any other, Richard Guthrie makes it back home.

Perfectly safe and completely unharmed.


	6. War Lines

**Chapter 6: War Lines**

_Betrayal burns and there's no hiding,_

_There's a tear in my heart where your lies left a mark,_

_And now nothing is clear,_

_Whose side are you on?_

_Whose side are you on?_

_War lines have been drawn,_

_Whose side are you on?_

* * *

As he's about to close the door, she successfully slips in. And she could swear she was able to feel the raw anger radiating off of him, her arm inevitably brushing against his chest.

At first, Eleanor holds her breath, standing still and staring at the four people gathered around the desk. Waiting to see whether he'll try to throw her out of here or not.

_Whether she'll need to put up a damn fight-_

His sigh of defeat is probably only loud enough to reach  _her_  ears, and then the door is closing behind her. She tries not to smirk in triumph, raising her chin anyway, as Charles walked over to the desk without directing a single look at her face.

"Make yourself at home, kid." His voice is gruff and dripping with acid sarcasm as he gestures towards Low's (no,  _his_ ) chair, behind that huge mahogany table near the line of windows.

Still gripping the gun tightly, Abigail stares at the piece of furniture for a moment, swallowing hard, probably remembering who used to sit on it not too long ago. But then she nods, settling in the chair and placing the gun on her lap. They all keep a safe distance from the desk, yet her fingers never leave the trigger.

Her nervousness is palpable as she stares at the five other people in the cabin, and only when Eleanor nods softly in encouragement, does she finally clear her throat.

"I... I would - first and foremost, I would like to thank you both for your... cooperation so far." She begins, looking between the two captains and trying to force a polite smile that looks nothing like a smile at all. "I do believe we can reach an agreement... And we can, I think- I think everyone can win."

_She really has **no idea**  what she's doing._

Trying hard not to cringe at the scene - and to hold back the urge to take matters into her own hands - Eleanor leans against the wall. Each time the girl looks at her, she tries to tell her what to say through a simple look. She tries to tell her to just go with  _Flint_ and put an end to all of this. But of course, she's not successful.

"I mean... no one- no one has to really lose, do you agree? I trust we can arrive to a peaceful arrangement, so that we-"

"I am afraid that is a utopia, Miss Ashe."

Flint speaks up, causing her to fall silent immediately. She clearly cowers a little under his glare, and Eleanor comes dangerously close to feeling bad for the poor thing.

Charles scoffs in contempt, of course, and the older captain meets his eyes.

"Do you even know what is the meaning of that word?"

Silver is right beside her, leaning against the wall too, and she thinks she hears him repressing a chuckle, barely managing to hold it back at the last second.

But Charles is unimpressed, glaring deadly daggers at his enemy. For a moment she thinks they'll start rolling around on the floor like two savage beasts again. And she just has to roll her eyes.

_Too bad the damn gun is in Abigail's possession, not hers._

"Well, as... As I said earlier, if there cannot be a conciliation, then I will... I will be forced to dictate the new terms myself. And be reassured, I will guarantee that both sides earn-"

"Our interests differ.  _Greatly_ , I might add. How do you plan on handling this? You cannot grace both sides."

As Flint speaks, Charles begins to pace around in the cabin.

He barely takes three steps, before a few shards of that bottle she'd broken earlier shatter into smaller pieces under the pressure of his boot.

He stops, glancing down at the mess and all that wasted rum, before meeting her eyes with a raised eyebrow. She just shrugs at him, while Abigail calmly asked the older captain what his goals were.

While he explains the entire story, clearly frustrated and impatient as hell, Eleanor glances at Billy.

She'd nearly forgotten he was even here, he's been completely quiet and still since the moment they stepped foot in this cabin. And she just has to frown at the look on his face.

Sure, they were all dumbstruck earlier, no one expected Abigail to do what she did, but he appears to be more in  _awe_  than anything else. His eyes never leave the teenager; Eleanor has the feeling he's been staring at her the whole time.

He should be  _pissed_ , like Flint and John. He should be frustrated and antsy. In truth, there should be anything other than  _admiration_  in his eyes.

Rolling her own eyes again, Eleanor decides he's not worth her time, and focuses back on Abigail just as Flint is done speaking.

To her surprise, the girl is already shaking her head.

"No."

"What?" An ill at ease Silver inquiries, tone laced with irritation, and she looks at him.

"I may not be... close to my father, but I can tell you that... asking him to side with you would be risky, at the very least."

She meets Charles' eyes then, almost shyly.

"My request, from earlier. I just wanted to... make sure that you were aware of the danger he represents. I am so grateful for the way you have been treating me. It's nothing like... the stories I heard. I was meaning, therefore, to make plans for our arrival.  _That_  is what I wanted to talk to you about. I was considering the idea of going ashore alone, meeting with my father... I just wanted to keep him from seeing you. You would still receive your money, but I really wanted to prevent you and him from being face to face. I would not like to see you hanged in our home, captain. Or you." She glances at Flint, then lowers her eyes at the gun for a second, before speaking in a quieter voice. "I do not agree with the killing. On  _either_  sides. It is not right."

No one really knows what to say, and silence reigns supreme in the cabin for a few moments. Eleanor can't help but shake her head.

The innocence of this girl... Did she actually think he'd be okay with that plan? That he'd trust her enough to let her take matters into her own hands?

"Your concern for our well being is highly appreciated, miss Ashe. And while the same cannot be said for him-" He nods towards Charles, without looking away from the girl. "I assure you, nothing will happen to me. Your father and I, we have history, and he wouldn't-"

"Captain  _Flint_." She says, and they all detect the hint of concern, even fear in her voice. "I'm afraid you are mistaken."

There's silence again, as he considers the girl for a few moments.

Scoffing quietly to herself, Eleanor finally pushes off of the wall.

"Abigail, for fuck's sake-"

"Guess that's what you get when you let schoolgirls rule like adults." Silver offers her a sarcastic half smirk, and she knows he's not just talking about Abigail.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Billy glaring at him. Apparently, he didn't like those words one bit, and he's  _not_ the only one.

But as soon as she opens her mouth to give John a piece of her mind, the answer already at the tip of her tongue, she feels fingers closing like steel around her upper arm.

Charles is dragging her towards one of the doors - the undamaged one - before she can even snap her head to look at him.

"Both of you, out." She hears Flint say, while trying to put up a fight.

"You don't-"

" _Out_!" His tone is much firmer, louder, and John doesn't dare to say another word.

Charles opens the door and practically shoves her to one of his men. They're all gathered near the door, the moon illuminating their faces, and she clenches her jaw when the stupid pig grabs her arms.

_He stinks._

"Don't let her wander off, and don't let her talk to anyone."

She does offer him her best death glare, but someone else catches her attention immediately.

When he approaches them, Scott has that same worried look on his face. That look so familiar to her by now. Charles looks at him too, just as Billy and John walk out of the cabin.

"If something happens, raise alarm."

With that, he's stepping back inside the cabin and slamming the door shut.

She's confused, at first.

He wasn't talking about trouble with the crew.

He was making sure she would be safe. That's why he addressed  _Scott_ , not one of his own men.

"Are you alright?"

She just nods at the former slave, before lowering her eyes to the floor.

To be out here, in the ocean, standing on this deck filled with so many men - dead  _and_  alive - makes her feel small and fragile. Although she'd never admit it aloud.

How she hates the feeling. But after a couple of second she takes a deep breath and raises her chin, staring at the closed door with a regal posture.

A minute goes by. Then three, five, seven minutes. She counts each second in her head. Her palms are sweating, the skin of her back is too. Despite the cool night air out here at sea.

At some point she hears the bang of a closed fist against the surface of the desk. There's some commotion from inside the cabin, but it's cut short just a couple of seconds later.

Her heart is drumming, tension builds up.

Then Flint throws the door open, causing her to jump slightly.

He looks at her face for a split second before storming away, some of his men following him already.

She frowns in confusion and the damn Neanderthal holding her arms simply shoves her back inside the captain's quarters. Catching her balance, she hears it as he closes the door behind her back. But her eyes are fixed on the person who now occupies the chair behind that huge desk.

Abigail is nowhere to be seen, and she assumes the girl is back in her own cabin.

He's examining a particularly big shard of the bottle she'd broken, and before she can think of something to say, he's speaking without looking at her face.

"Was there a fight? Did they hurt you?"

The questions catch her completely off guard. For a moment, she just stands there.

He looks up from the shard, meeting her eyes with a cocked eyebrow as she shook her head.

"It was just Silver. He only touched me in order to bind my wrists."

His eyes narrow. He glances at the knife resting on the table, right in front of him, then studies her a few seconds longer before gesturing for her to come closer. A barely perceptible nod of his head.

And she obeys, because she knows exactly what he's going to do.

The cold blade touches her right wrist lightly and that uncomfortable pressure is gone right after. She thinks she feels a feather like, barely there, touch on her skin. He was probably checking the rope burns, but she's not sure. She has her back turned to him.

Only when he places the dagger on his desk, she turns back around. He's still seated on the chair, and she watches as he carefully puts the ropes away in a drawer.

Wondering why the hell he wanted to keep them, and knowing he'd give her a stupid answer that would annoy the shit out of her if she asked, she holds her tongue, taking a look at the skin of her wrists.

It's sightly red, but not raw as she'd expected.

"So, what happened? Why was Flint..." She trails off, frowning down at him as a dry chuckle escaped his lips. " _What_  happened?"

"Kid is smarter and  _braver_  than we all gave her credit for."

He's trying to hide something from her. But she knows him too well.

Leaning her hip against the side of the desk, she crosses her arms.

"I take it things are looking good on your side?"

Silence. His barely perceptible smirk is clear as the light of day to her eyes.

"How come even a child is able to see things better than you bunch of idiots?"

Frowning in confusion, she realizes that things are far too quiet out there.

"Where is she? Where did they-"

"She's retired to her own cabin. And  _they_  are back in their ship by now."

"Why?"

His smirk widens, he keeps examining that damn shard, then flipping it over again and again in his palm and testing the sharp edges with his thumb and index finger.

"We're waiting."

"I swear to God, if you don't-"

"It was impossible to conciliate. So Abigail laid out her terms, just like she said she would. And he knew there was nothing he could do." His fingers stop moving. His lips are a tight line as he shakes his head. "That girl... I've no idea what kind of life she leads, but believe me... She'd have no problem putting an end to it."

For some strange reason, her heart skips a beat. He seems to be deep in thought, just staring at the shard, but then he sighs and his voice fills the cabin again.

"He did try to resort to strength at one point. Acted as if he was going to just take the gun from her, so we could go back to settling things our way... And she was  _this_  close to pulling that trigger. She would have, hadn't he stopped in his tracks. I saw it.  _He_  saw it. She's not fooling around."

"So now what?"

"Now we wait for him to bend. She said ' _no ships move, until we have an agreement_ '."

"You've got to be  _shitting_  me."

"She said that if there's any commotion, if she suspects he's trying anything..."

He gestures at his own head, the look in his eyes sending a shudder down her spine.

"She'll blow her brains out."

The corners of his lips twitch up.

Clearly, he's delighted. Of  _course_  he is.

"It's a dead end, and even though he's having a hard time accepting this turn of events, he also knows there's no way out. Commotion..."

Her eyes follow his hand as he opens that same drawer again, then she turns her back to him and takes a few steps away, listening to the all too familiar sounds.

"Not sure if you know, but two enemy crews... Forced to just wait in the middle of the damn ocean. Forced to deal with all this inertia and uncertainty, itching for some action, some progress... It can never end well."

She does know. Of course she does. Hell, it never ends well even back at the island, and since this is  _their_  environment...

"Soon enough, they'll be too antsy. Too antsy to stay put. And it won't be too long before that battlefield you saw earlier begins again."

She turns back around, glaring daggers at him, and he's in the process of running the tip of his tongue across the damn cigar.

Her stomach fills with butterflies. It's always like this, no matter how many times-

And it's nothing but a natural reaction of her traitorous body.

It doesn't matter, because when he meets her eyes, giving her this stupid, maddening, matter-of-factly look, her anger is bubbling again.

" _Commotion_."

She feels a migraine coming on already. Stress taking her over, practically flowing through her veins.

"He knows it. He knows he better stop fuming soon."

_She just wants to punch him again, so damn hard. It felt so good the last time._

"What if he doesn't care? Who says he'll be willing to let you win like this? He could actually be counting on that battlefield. Abigail kills herself, no one wins. Surely it will be better than letting you have things your way."

Her voice comes out much harsher than intended. But he openly smirks at her, finally lighting the stupid cigar.

"You're going to have to try harder." As he takes a drag, she has to look away. There's a mess inside her head, her brain is already working at full speed. She needs to do something.

"I saw the look on his face. Back at the tavern. The look on  _her_  face. These two care for that girl. I don't know why, but they do. He won't let her die."

_Damn_ him.

She actually travels back in time for a split second.

To a very strange conversation she'd shared, a long time ago, with a very drunk Jack Rackham.

A conversation about this man.

_"I will never understand, Miss Guthrie, how he can be such a moron at times... And also so infuriatingly perceptive to the smallest of details."_

As the words echo in her mind, she scoffs, making her way to the door Silver had broken open earlier with purposeful steps.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To have a word with Abigail."

He jumps to his feet as she walks past the desk.

"You can't."

" _Watch me_."

She doesn't even hear him move. But before she can reach for the door, he's right behind her, grabbing her arms, turning her around and pushing her against the wall. The air is knocked right out of her lungs with the impact.

In nothing more than a second she finds herself trapped between the wood and his body, both his hands restraining her wrists above her head.

"Won't work. In case you didn't notice, for some crazy reason, she's loyal to me now."

Their bodies are flush together, his face mere inches from hers, and all the contact makes her hatred burn stronger.

"You let me go, right  _now_."

"Managed to crawl your way right back into my bed, but that doesn't mean you won. That doesn't mean I  _forgot_. I saw just how far you're willing to go, what you'd be capable of sacrificing. Point of no return. There's no coming back from that. So if you try anything, you go straight back to that brig. Or the damn ocean."

His eyes are burning into hers, he's staring right into her soul and it's uncomfortable as hell, but she refuses to look away first.

"That promise you made."

Her eyes flicker to the bunk for only a split second, on their own accord.

"Not sure whether you meant it or not, but just so you know, I took it  _very_  seriously. And I hope you'll honor it. Remember what you swore on."

_...swear to me, on **his**  life, that you will never betray me again._

As Eleanor realizes the full meaning behind those words, her blood turns to ice. Her eyes widen, she begins to fight.

She's never hated him so much before.

"You wouldn't dare."

The stare down continues, she tries to free her wrists, but to no avail.

"You wouldn't. Not  _this_."

He offers her that dark half smirk of his, the one that should be enough to make any person in this world cower in pure fear.

_Not her._

"Been wanting to give that idiot what he deserves, since that first time I ever saw you cry."

Trying to fight against his hold, she clenches her jaw hard as he leans in even closer. His fists tighten around her wrists, a clear warning.

"So do  _not_  test me, Eleanor."

Is he actually serious? Something about that dangerous tone of his, the look in his eyes, urges her to believe that  _yes_ , he means every single word.

But she simply doesn't want to believe.

Goosebumps rise all over the skin of her arms, and she swallows hard.

"You  _wouldn't_."

He cocks his head to the side, the ghost of that smirk from earlier coming back.

Repressing the urge to spit in his face, or even to kick his groin, she tries to move away. But the wall keeps her from doing so, and he only presses his body to hers even further. Impossibly closer.

His eyes watch her intently as he tries to decide what to do to her.

Apparently, he knows this is a battle he cannot win.

With a sigh, he lets go of her wrists. The rope had already hurt her skin earlier, and now he's made it even worse. All she wants is to rub the sore spots, but he'd probably have fun watching this, so she holds back for now.

"Come right back here when you're done."

Stunned, she just stares at his face at first.

"Seriously?"

"No way for you to leave with her, the men are all out there. No secret tunnels this time around. And if you take too long, if I even  _suspect_  you're trying to put ideas in her head, you go back to the brig. Her cabin is just down this corridor, you're right under my nose. And no matter what, I have the feeling you won't be able to dissuade her. You'll certainly try your hardest, but..."

Anger burns in her eyes as he raises his right hand. His fingers brush her hair behind her ear, but she's not fooled. And what he says next contrasts with the loving gesture.

"...remember who pays the ultimate price, should you succeed."

She scoffs, finally pushing him away and slipping out of the cabin.

.

Watching the ruined door, he smirks to himself despite everything.

_Watch me._

That docile, obedient facade is gone, obviously. The woman he fell in love with is definitely back, and this could represent problems. A challenge, certainly.

_But he likes her **much**  better like this._

* * *

"I wish I had stern words to say."

Abigail is sitting in the hammock as she walks in. The gun is resting on her lap and her fingers automatically move to the trigger.

For some reason, Eleanor's heart clenches.

"What you did out there... You made me very proud."

The girl smiles weakly. She's so different, all of a sudden. She seems more mature.

She also seems to be carrying the weight of the world upon her shoulders. There's a strange grief in her eyes.

"Can't you see? It was thanks to you. I had never met a woman like you before. I did not even know it was possible for us to be like this. I didn't think it was... allowed. It was very...  _refreshing_  to meet you."

The words have caught her off guard, to say the least. And Eleanor doesn't know how to react to this sudden praise, so she just leans against the wall, not daring to take a single step closer.

It's a delicate situation.

"I may not know what the future holds for me, but of one thing I am certain...I wish I could be just like you."

_Wish I could?_

Taking a peek outside to check if the corridor was empty, Eleanor feels her heart skipping a beat.

"Listen, perhaps you should... rethink this."

She keeps her tone as quiet as possible, and Abigail sighs heavily at her words.

"You were mending your relationship-"

"This has nothing to do with  _him_. You are part of a scheme. A scheme to save my home, their home. You have the chance to secure this. The future of that entire island is in your hands. Its success. Go with Flint, you will be ensuring all of that."

She nearly raises her voice more than once. This is harder than she thought it would be. Her palms are sweating as she checks the corridor again.

Still empty.

"Stay with Vane. You will only be filling him and his stupid men with spoils."

"Did you hear a word I said back at the captain's quarters?"

She could be mistaken, but the girl seems to have picked up on her manner of speaking. Even though her tone is still gentle and almost meek, she's certainly bolder now than she was five days ago.

"My father is not interested in helping the likes of you. At all. I suppose he  _could_  help make the island clean..."

Grimacing, Abigail grips the gun tighter.

Christ, if her finger slips, if she ends up pulling that damn trigger by accident and bursting her own guts open...

"By clean, I mean... Rid it of you all. Captain Vane. Captain Flint,  _especially_. Their men.  _You_." The teen swallows hard, shrugging in an almost shy manner, as if worried her next words might be offensive. "You are a pirate too, Eleanor."

_What she wouldn't give to turn back time and actually follow through with her plans that night..._

Strangely, the thought is just as terrifying as it is appealing.

"Then what is it that you suggest?"

"I must convince captain Flint to accept my terms. After that... Upon our arrival, I will talk to my father. I will ask him to double the ransom money, and split it between both captains. He will be happy if I say my virtue is intact, and ready to pay whatever they ask. As long as they disappear from his domain, and no one hears a word about this whole ordeal so that it won't become a scandal-"

"Your  _virtue_?"

She hates that word with all her strength. She hates to hear it from anyone. It's almost as if she can hear her father's voice in her head.

Each time she hears that blasted word, it's as if she travels 7, 8 years back in time.

_Your most prized possession._

Her most prized possession was always her brain, and as soon as she became familiar with her father's plans, she took care of putting an end to them. Before they could really even begin.

She didn't have to be a genius to figure out the best way to do so.

_Thankfully, there was a certain someone who was up for the job._

"I am expected to marry within a fortnight."

Abigail's voice brings her back from her thoughts, and her frown gives place to a blank expression.

The teen is staring down at the wood planks, using one of her feet to gently rock the hammock back and forth. And Eleanor can practically feel her distress.

"Oh."

"I have no idea who he is. What he looks like. But my father says it is a golden opportunity. And all I know is his age. 49... Recently widowed." Those doe eyes are glinting with unshed tears as Abigail looks up at her again. " _This_ is why I was returning home, you see. The... real reason."

_She shouldn't give a damn._

"How do you... feel about that?"

"I know what is expected of us on our wedding night. But I have never even kissed a man. And now they expect me to-" She shudders involuntarily, studying the gun on her lap. Eleanor watches her fingers like a hawk. "The mere idea is so extremely frightening."

The hammock stops moving just as Abigail meets her eyes again.

"Surely you have... Haven't you?"

She tries hard not to sigh in annoyance.

This is  _not_  what she came here for.

"Yes."

"Is it true? Does it hurt as much as they say?"

"The first few times, but... Shit, I don't even know what to say to you."

The anger, suddenly flowing through her veins, is one hell of a surprise. And it's not brought on by the messy situation, the uncooperative girl.

_She's angry at this stupid world._

"This is so fucking unfair."

"It's quite alright." Forcing a smile, Abigail shrugs dismissively. All that fear is still present in her eyes. "I was raised to... My whole life, I was educated for this. I always knew that one day, the time would come. This is already my 16th year of life, and I need to face my duty."

Her  _duty?_

_Absolutely **sickening.**_

"I was the same age."

The words simply slip out, and thankfully, Abigail understands their meaning.

As the girl ducks her head, a blush coming to her cheeks, she just has to frown.

"It was him, right? The captain."

Despite her annoyance at the recent turn of events, she chuckles briefly.

It's the only answer Abigail receives.

Her cheeks still have a faint blush to them as she sighs heavily. Her fingertips trace the gun she'd snatched from Billy's waist earlier, and she shakes her head.

"I know I should be grateful. To my father, for this opportunity... And I am... It's the first time he gives me any attention in years, after all. But sometimes, I just wish I could have the right to choose. Like you did. I imagine it must be...  _nice_."

Unsure what to say, she just stands there, leaning against the wall. This conversation took a very unexpected turn, but her brain is already insistently searching for a solution again. If she can get into that girl's head... She just opened up and showed some weakness, it should be easy enough to take advantage of that-

"I admire what you're trying to do. For your home. But if it's truly what you wish, you will need to find another way. My father will be more likely to see you all as vermin, rather than allies."

It's as if she sensed the change in Eleanor's thoughts. The blonde watches as she gets to her feet, straightening out the wrinkles in her skirts.

"I may be naive, but I do know that through gold... people are able buy... almost anything in this world of ours. Perhaps my father's money could be useful, it could aid you and captain Flint in your quest."

Already sensing what was coming, Eleanor opens her mouth to protest.

She never gets to do it.

"I knew what your intentions were,  _the moment_  you walked into this cabin." Holding the gun firmly with both hands, Abigail takes a few steps away from her. So she stays silent.

"It won't work. My mind is made up. And I will do whatever I must to make sure none of you will be executed at my home. If I can do something so great... Before I'm forced to accept my fate as a man's servant for the rest of my existence... At least I will always have something nice to look back on. These memories to make me smile. It's already much better than anything I could have hoped for. So I will ask you, I will  _beg_  you-"

Her eyes are filled with tears again. But Eleanor is so irritated that the sight does nothing to melt all the ice building around her heart.

Still, the words that leave Abigail's lips next are almost enough to make her feel bad.

"Do  _not_  try to take this away from me."

_Almost_  enough, but not quite.

With a scoff of contempt, she storms out of the claustrophobic cabin. The door is pretty much ruined thanks to Billy, but she still slams it shut as best as she can.

She actually feels sorry for the poor girl; somewhere in the depths of her heart, there is a bit of empathy. Abigail is a victim of this sickening society, and Eleanor knows she could have been a victim herself.

But right now, the only real concern in her mind is just how the hell they're going to turn this situation around.

She failed miserably, but at least she gathered some information. And the conclusion she arrived to is that Flint will need to find a way to do this himself.

During the conversation she realized Abigail has greater respect for Charles. There are two captains here now, but she keeps referring to him as  _the_  captain.

Obviously, that girl has some sort of puppy admiration for him now.

How this happened, she has no fucking idea.

But it's a huge obstacle, as there is no way they'll be able to dissuade her now. Taking her by force is not an option either. Not while she has that gun.

Even if they managed to silently take Charles and his men down - _she tries her best to ignore the way her chest tightens_  - and subdue Abigail, they would have an angry teenager in their hands.

She could make things difficult with lord Ashe. She surely would.

As if they weren't already walking on thin ice with that man.

Christ, what a mess.

And it's  _her_  mess, so she better find a way to clean it up.

Glancing at the door, she sighs, trying not to feel like the most awful human being in the world.

During their conversation, Abigail confessed she looked up to her. She also opened up about her unfortunate future, the fate that awaits her, her fears.

And all she can think about is herself, not the child's misfortune. But then again, by now, she's already used to putting her goals first.

_Then why did you choose **now** to fail, of all times?_

Shaking her head, she looks in the direction of the captain's quarters.

No way she'll go back there. Not yet, at least.

He'll be smoking like the proud idiot he is right now, and she needs to let her anger cool down for a bit before being in the same room as him.

Like it or not, she's still in his custody. She can't defend herself, so she needs to stay in his good graces.

_...Why did she choose now to fail?..._

Her head is pounding, and she's only realizing it now. But it's the least of her troubles.

_...Of all times?..._

What a mess, indeed.

_Fuck, if only she'd been strong enough to lock that damn gate and walk the fuck away._

* * *

"There is nothing we can do now. And you know that."

Jaw set, he slams his palm against the small window again.

"Do you see how utterly  _ridiculous_  this situation is? Our fates, in the hands of a 16-year-old. After everything I've been through." There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he turns around to face the two other people in the cabin. "Everything we conquered. How in the world did I let a  _child_  corner us into a dead end like that?"

"Had you not been so distracted playing with violence, perhaps you would have been able to prevent this."

He shoots Miranda a look, knowing this was her own way of saying " _I told you so_ ". And it makes him insane. There's  _nothing_  else he could have done.

She's not naive at all, she knows there's no way they would have been able to solve this with amicable conversation or deals, and yet she's  _still g_ iving him a hard time.

_He should have just left her behind..._

"You know you need to make a move. Soon. They won't be willing to wait for too long." John's voice breaks their moment, and he meets his eyes. "The men. They're restless already... Air is thick as your skull out there."

Narrowing his eyes, he backs away from the window, walking past the table and the chair Miranda occupies and closer to the bunk.

"They want to move forward. No matter what, they need a verdict. And I'm sure the situation is the same back at the Fancy." He looks at John's face again just as the younger man frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door. " _Commotion_ , she said?"

"I won't give him what he wants. If we accept Abigail's terms, I will basically be handing victory to him on a silver platter. He'll have things his way. And the island-"

"Who says we can't turn the situation around?" His head is pounding as he drops to the bunk, but his eyes never leave John's. "Right at the last minute, when they think this story is over, and victory is theirs."

Both men just stare at each other for a moment longer, before Flint shakes his head.

"The child's loyal to him now. I saw it in her eyes."

"Then act behind her back."

Just as he's about to answer, his temper beginning to flare, Miranda's voice cuts him off.

"He's right."

He actually frowns for a second, looking over at her again. He'd forgotten she was even here, too immersed in the conversation with John to pay any attention to anything else... As it is often the case.

_Too often to his liking in fact._

"I cannot believe I'm saying this, but he's absolutely right. You will pretend to back down. Pretend to accept this new arrangement. We will resume the journey, and once we're there..."

Her voice is firm, and it leaves no room for argument. It's as if she's the captain in this ship, and he scowls at her audacity. But she's unfazed, of course.

"...you and I can go ashore, talk to him and explain everything."

Abigail's words ring in his head. His mind is suddenly haunted by the most unpleasant of images.

"If you won't listen to me, then at least listen to  _her_." John says with a bored tone, and he offers him a death glare while nodding at the door.

He's quick to leave them alone.

Still sitting on the bunk near the table, Flint shakes his head.

"What the girl told me-"

"A  _risk_. One I am willing to take."

_The most unpleasant of images..._

As he stares at Miranda's face, that bad feeling only grows more intense.

"But you stay-"

"We left that world together. So we return together."

His chest tightens.

And all he can do is nod his head.

* * *

_The back of her head feels awfully sore as she does some paperwork, and she's had a few killer headaches throughout the years, but none that compared to this one. It's a strange pressure. She should probably take a quick break._

_Her eyes squeeze shut, she regretfully sets her quill aside._

Then she's opening her eyes again, to a dark corridor instead of the familiar safety of her office. For a second, she's confused, before realizing she'd been dreaming.

All of the recent events come crashing over her, mercilessly, like insufferable demons that had just been waiting for her to come back from the comfort of dreamland.

She remembers she decided to sit in the corridor, halfway between the door to Abigail's cabin and the captain's quarters, because exhaustion had started to catch up to her.

She'd been meaning to rest her eyes for a moment, and now here she is, waking up God knows how long after. She'd been leaning her head to the rough wooden wall, so that explains the pain that followed her right into her peaceful dream.

Damn it, she misses her office. Hopefully her father is handling things well at the tavern?

_Better not count on that._

With a heavy sigh, Eleanor gets to her feet.

When she carefully pushes the door open, she immediately feels an immense relief. The cabin is empty, silent and calm. He's nowhere to be seen.

Then she hears his voice, he's right outside, and his tone makes her roll her eyes. He's pretty excited, and judging from the laughter and the chatter, so is the crew.

_Enjoy it while you can._

The oil lanterns sway along with the ship, casting the cabin into a dim glow, and her eyes soon settle on the book she'd -  _quite violently_  - thrown at John earlier. She grimaces involuntarily, rushing over to the spot where it had landed and crouching down to examine it.

" _Damn_  it."

A few pages have been damaged beyond repair, but she's already read them, so it doesn't really matter.

She's engaged in her reading by now, and it always maddens her whenever she's unable to finish a book for one reason or another.

Brushing her fingertips over the words on those pages, she rises back to her normal stature. The bunk is calling out to her. So is the book. And she gives in.

It feels almost wrong to allow herself to relax, or at least  _try_  to, when everything else is going to hell all around her.

But she reassures herself by repeating in her mind that there's no move she can do for now. And that's something she's definitely not used to, so it's normal for her to feel this uneasy.

_No move she can do._

Like walking out of here and crossing that deck filled with filthy savages to try and get to Flint. To Scott.

It's all she's yearning to do, but it's impossible. For  _now_.

_Pick your battles and wait for the right time. Even if it kills you._

With a heavy sigh, she removes her skirt and jacket, stripping down to her blouse. The cool air causes her to shiver, so she's quick to get under those thick blankets, while also trying to ignore  _his_  unique scent.

_Or the effect it has on her._

With a shake of her head, she opens the book again.

At least she's happy her clothes were dry enough to be worn this afternoon.

If John had burst into this room while she was wearing nothing but Charles' shirt... She doesn't think she would have been able to handle the humiliation.

Trying to block out the faint chatter outside, she rolls her eyes and begins to read.

Those tales of distant places she'll never see soon suck her in, as always.

_"June 12. Had rainy Weather, with little or no Wind. At 8 this Morning, saw the Island of Gorgona; bore S. half W. distant about 9 Leagues. We impatiently long to be there again, at an Anchor, being in an ordinary Condition to keep the Sea, tho' when there, we are open to all Advantages against us, if the Enemy is out after us, which we expect, and that this is a Place they will search, but having no other Place so convenient, we must run the Risque of it."_

Running risks, stuck in a difficult situation with no easy way out...

"You and me  _both_ , captain." She says quietly, before heaving a sigh.

_This_  is exactly why she always stuck to the safety of dry land.

Almost twenty pages later, the door that led out to the deck creaks on its hinges, revealing that idiot whose presence she can't bear at the moment. She hardly even looks up from the book, pretending to be immersed in her reading. But as soon as he comes in, it's impossible to focus on Rogers' words.

She's eager for news, and at the same time she loathes the idea of being the one to break the silence. It would feel like  _defeat_.

He has his back to the bunk so she allows herself to take a little peek. He's bare from the waist up already, assessing the damage made to the door, from when Silver broke it open. The one that led to the corridor.

She already knows there will be no way for him to lock it now, as he did before.

And of course, her brain is already burning with possibilities.

If he sleeps in the hammock tonight... she could easily sneak out of this cabin. There's no way she'll be able to retrieve Abigail -  _or the gun_  - since the girl somehow barricaded her own door from the inside soon after she left her, earlier in the night.

_Smarter than they gave her credit for._

But if she could at least get out of here, go to Scott and Flint, explain everything and start making new plans with them, it'll be much better than nothing.

Some of the men probably stay awake to keep watch out there, but maybe, _just maybe_ , she could go unnoticed in the dark.

But even then, how the hell would she manage to move to the other ship at all? It's not like she can jump or call out for Scott-

The small sliver of hope is crushed, and she frowns as Charles pushes the desk all the way over to the door.

She can't help but raise an eyebrow at this. That stupid thing must be so damn heavy.

Trying not to stare as his muscles strained under his skin, she soon forces herself to look at the pages and that classy writing again.

But she still hears as he takes a deep breath and steps back to look at his work. He's probably debating with himself whether it's enough or not.

Enough to keep her inside.

_And to keep any others outside._

In the end, apparently, he's satisfied. His feet carry him all the way over to the other door and he locks it as he normally would.

Only then, she finally feels his eyes on her. It's unnerving, and just as she looks up from the book, briefly, he clenches his jaw, considering her in silence.

That string holding five keys, the one he usually keeps around his neck, is immediately wrapped around his left wrist. Snug enough that it would be impossible for her to retrieve it without waking him up from the deepest of slumbers.

_He's not committing the same mistake again._

She wants to believe that the dismay she feels is due to the fact she won't be able to repeat her strategy tonight.

Not to the fact that his trust in her is probably broken forever.

It  _doesn't_ matter.

He just stands there for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices he's glancing at the hammock, then at the bunk again.

A few seconds later, he walks closer, removing his boots and pants. Then he's settling in the mattress by her side, and she does her very best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

The narrow bunk forces him so close to her. Even though she's moved away, it's not enough. Their bodies are still touching, and while the warmth of his skin isn't exactly unwelcome, she just wishes she could be alone tonight.

There's a strangely awkward atmosphere all around them, and she can't remember if it ever felt like this between her and this man.

Probably not. Between them, it was always joy, passion, excitement, this crazy lust, anger, hatred... but  _awkwardness_?

_Never before._

While reading without really paying any attention to the words, she can feel his eyes on her. And just as she's about to snap, his voice finally fills her ears.

"This one again?"

With a soft shrug, she turns a page. Without even having finished the previous one.

"People tend to finish the books they start.  _You_  wouldn't know that, of course-"

The acidity in her tone grows more noticeable with each word she says, so she bites her tongue.

Everything is still so uncertain here, she can't afford to lose his protection just yet.

To her surprise, he actually chuckles.

"What's it about?"

"A very bold, perspicacious man, exploring distant places. And conquering so much."

His amusement seems to fade away and he sighs. "Bold, perspicacious... You can tell such things just from reading his words, yet you don't even know him. And you never will."

The  _disdain_  in his voice...

That tone is simply way too familiar by now, and she shakes her head, barely able to contain her smirk.

_Jealous of a book author... That's a new one._

Her eyes are still skimming over the words, and she tries to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "Any progress with Flint?"

He shifts a little in the mattress, or attempts to, at least, before noticing the blonde curl resting on his shoulder. She tries not to flinch when he touches it, twirling the soft strands around his thumb.

"They're all below decks now. Out of sight. Humiliation must be too hard for them to handle."

Hopefully, he's too entertained by her hair to notice her eye roll.

"But if he's half as smart as you give him credit for, he'll back down tomorrow morning. And we'll be on our way."

His fingers go still. He seems to be debating with himself for a moment, then he sighs heavily.

"Shouldn't even be stupid enough to ask, but as I said, I also remember that promise of yours..."

Her heart skips a beat. He brushes her hair behind her ear again, but this time she fails to sense any aggressiveness from him. Her eyes finally leave the book, meeting his in the dim light.

"So whose side are you on, right now?"

His.

His, still, without a fucking doubt.

But the promise she made, two nights ago, in this very same bunk...

She swore on her father's life.

Charles warned her not to test him.

Would he really be capable of crossing that line? Is she willing to take that risk?

_If she betrays him again, she might as well arrange his demise._

It's the only way to make sure he won't follow through with his threats, and the mere thought hurts her more than it should.  _Far_  more than it should.

Surprised to feel the sting of tears in her eyes, she sets the book aside and leans in to kiss his lips.

The distraction works, and she soon finds herself on her back again, her blouse gone, his body covering hers.

As he kisses his way down her stomach, she closes her eyes, trying to banish all other thoughts from her mind and just focus on this moment for now.

Soon enough, all she's going to have are these memories, after all.

_It hurts far more than it should._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm the worst. Sorry about the huge delay! Life has been a real bitch lately, so I kinda lost my motivation to write. It's coming back now, though! :)
> 
> There will be a lot happening in the next chapter, because I plan on covering two entire episodes (XVI and XVII), doing all the necessary changes, so yeah, we'll be in for a long ride lol. We'll be dealing with Richard, their arrival at Charlestown, Peter and a lot more.
> 
> It's been storm after storm for me this past couple of months, but I think it's safe to say things will get better from now on :) And either way, I promise not to abandon Archives again <3


	7. The Other Ones

**Chapter 7: The Other Ones**

_**Swaying to the rhythm of the new world order and,** _

_**Count the bodies like sheep,** _

_**To the rhythm of the war drums,** _

_**Just stay with me,** _

_**Hold you and protect you from the other ones,** _

_**The evil ones** _

* * *

Only half listening to Frasier's words, he inspects the damage made to the office.

Two broken chairs. The partition was nearly brought down. Somebody probably hit the left side of the desk with an axe, most of the windowpanes are ruined too. Not to mention all the filth covering the floor and smeared over the walls.

It's worse than he thought. Perhaps he should have come sooner.

Men from at least five different crews had been doing as they pleased with this place, he'd heard, and this is the result.

"...Colonial Dawn is most certainly emptying her hold. This gives further credence to the rumors you and I have heard."

That grabs his attention. Frowning, he turns around to face the other man.

"The only way to stop this from happening is if we have them all killed."

Nodding weakly to himself, Richard touches the damaged wood of the desk.

"Go ahead and have it done."

There's silence, and Frasier doesn't even budge.

Familiar anger begins to rise in his chest.

_This again?_

"What is it?"

"That woman... across the street. She is involved in this scheme too. I do not think your daughter would approve-"

"My  _daughter_..." He spits the word out as if it's poison, lips curving into a humorless, sarcastic smirk. "...is not here anymore, is she?"

Not truly able to decode the look in Frasier's eyes, Richard watches as he hesitates, before forcing himself to nod.

"Sir."

As the man leaves him alone, he can't stop himself from scoffing in disdain. This sort of thing has been happening constantly, and it's absolutely irksome.

All of them. All of them seem to doubt him. All of them keep acting as if his  _child_  is way above him, hierarchically.

_Unnaceptable._

He walks to one of the windows. His eyes settle on a certain figure across the street. Crossing his arms over his chest, he raises his chin in a clear show of superiority and defiance.

_It's about time he takes the reins of this place again._

* * *

There's the most unpleasant chill going down her spine, and when Jack comes to stand at her side, the words are already tumbling from her lips.

"How soon can you be ready to sail?"

"Just finalizing the route, sorting out supplies. I assume we'd depart tomorrow at some point."

With a shake of her head, she heaves a sigh. Her eyes never leave that window, on the building just across the street.

"No. You need to move quicker. I saw  _him_ , earlier. He's up to no good."

"How can you tell?"

"Look."

He follows her stare.

The man watching them from the tavern wears this undecipherable expression on his face, half shrouded by the darkness of the office.

That look in his eyes screams of danger.

"Leave as soon as possible."

Without averting his stare, Jack nods at her words.

"I will see what I can do... To rush things along. And you be... extra careful here. Alright?"

With that, he's walking away with quick, purposeful steps, without even waiting for an answer. She doubts he'd care enough to do so. His patience is clearly hanging by a thread. He's been so different. Lacking his usual energy.

_But then again, Anne's departure did have an impact on both of them._

Swallowing hard, she watches as Richard closes the window, slowly. That chill goes down her spine again.

They've been so careful. But something this huge... Perhaps she should have known better. She should have known that some information could leak out, and apparently, it did.

It could be nothing. They've been getting so paranoid, naturally, and this threat hanging in the air could be actually only in their heads.

_That look on that asshole's face..._

Paranoid or not, she can't help but think that there  _are_  foul things brewing here. Her intuition doesn't tend to lie to her.

Grabbing her skirts, Max turns around to head back inside the brothel.

Jack and the men should leave soon.

As for her... It would probably be wise to have men guarding her door at all times.

_Just in case._

* * *

The first thing she notices is the soft, steady rise and fall of the ship, cutting through the waves. There's a frown on her face even before she opens her eyes.

They're moving again.

Sitting up abruptly and looking all around, Eleanor notices how well illuminated the cabin is, even though the curtains are still covering that line of windows behind the desk. It must be late in the morning, she  _never_  sleeps this much.

The book she's been reading lies forgotten at the foot of the bunk and she reaches for it, memories from God knows how many hours ago starting to fill her sleep muddled brain.

Fingers resting atop the hard book cover, she sighs, extremely ashamed of herself.

Last night, that idiot had  _clearly_  wanted her as badly as always, but all he did was use his fingers, his tongue, bringing her to paradise over and over again. Relentlessly. Until he finally tired her out, never letting her do the same to him.  _Again_.

She fell asleep, sated and exhausted, and he probably watched her for a while, making sure she was really out, before allowing himself to rest too.

Even though she had no intentions of leaving him last night.

_Not yet._

It  _maddens_  her; the fact that she even let him be in control like that. It just felt like heaven, every little thing he was doing to her... But  _that_  was never enough of an excuse before, and right now, it shouldn't be, either.

No way to turn back time, so she just hopes that the crew -  _and Abigail_  - were unable to hear her. Less humiliating like that, at least.

But either way, there's something else that deserves her attention, far more than their stupid encounter last night.

That rise and fall, the sound of men working outside. The sound of  _his_  voice, calling out for someone. Something about the sails, she can't hear it too well. But all of that combined...

They're moving, which means Flint must have bended.

_**Damn**  it-_

The undamaged door opens so suddenly, and only then she realizes that her clothes are gone. Some more light floods the cabin, the men's voices as well, and she's automatically reaching for the blanket. But the door is closed again before anyone else can see her naked chest. Anyone else but  _him_.

He's holding a bowl in his hands. The smell of cooked meat and maybe roasted potatoes fills her nostrils. Their eyes meet and she looks away a split second later, already searching for her blouse and finding it on the floor, just beside the bunk. And her skirt is just a few feet away from it.

It's pretty useless, if she's honest with herself. He knows every inch of her body, every little detail probably burned into his brain forever by now, but still, she gets dressed in record time.

"What time is it?"

"An hour after midday. But no need to hate yourself for it..."

At first she thinks he's messing with her, but his tone lacks any amusement.

"...You were up late."

Scratch that, there's definitely a brief hint of mirth now. Even though she's the only one who'd be able to detect it.

He sets the bowl on the desk before leaning against the nearest wall.

"You should eat."

His tone is nothing but curt and dry again, and as her stomach grumbles, she decides this is a suggestion she'll be happy to follow.

A scowl creeps onto her face as she sits down and stares at the bowl in front of her.

_No cutlery today._

She does glare at him but he's staring out one of the windows, not paying her any mind. So she sighs to herself, grimacing as her fingers touched the food. She was probably a child, the last time she did this. Scott and her mother used to reprimand her a lot.

"So we're moving."

"Quite observant."

"You know what I mean."

Feeling his eyes on her now, she looks up from the food. He's watching her curiously, as if the sight of her eating without any cutlery is the most amusing thing in the world.

Her blood is suddenly so close to boiling in her veins.

"Won't you sit down?"

"Already ate."

Raising an eyebrow, she glances down at the bowl again.

Two roasted potatoes, sliced into eight pieces, some bread that looks  _far_  from appealing, and meat. A  _lot_  of meat.

Does he think she's one of the men now?

"In case you didn't notice, I am not one of those sweaty animals out there. And I'm spending my days locked up in a cabin, not laboring. There is also the fact I am a woman, and unless we're with child, we tend to eat less than-"

"That's usually what Anne chooses as her noon meal."

" _Anne_." She practically scoffs the name, unable to believe him. "You are actually comparing  _me_ to that-"

Now her blood is  _definitely_  boiling.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm her nerves, she reminds herself that there are far more pressing matters which deserve her attention at the moment.

"We're moving." She tries again, and he finally sighs in defeat.

"At first light, while you were asleep... He requested a meeting. We talked outside. He's backed down, and we agreed to stay out of range of the patrol boats once we arrive. A sign that we mean no harm. Not a single gun port will be opened... That was his only request."

Munching on the meat, she touches the bread.

_Stale._

Stale, the potatoes lack any seasoning whatsoever, and the meat is nearly raw.

With a roll of her eyes, she forces herself to swallow the unpleasant stuff.

_Jesus, who the **hell**  is cooking for him?_

"And then?"

"Then I take her ashore."

If she had a fork, she'd be letting it fall right now.

"She said she wants to go alone..."

"She won't."

If she had a fork, she'd be digging it into his skin right now.

"...to tell her father about the change of plans. Only then-"

"Last time I decided to trust a woman, I lost one of the things I treasured the most in this world."

His voice is harsh enough to silence her, and she's surprised to feel the slightest pang of guilt in her heart.

His ship. The same ship she'd grown a little bit fond of, during the nights when she'd stupidly let him take her aboard.

They never set sail. But those nights, those nights when she was so pissed off at her father, at the town, at the world in general, she would let him take her to his cabin.

It was such a small taste. Such a small taste of what she could have, if she listened to the call of the sea. That call that had been so insistent, ever since she was a little girl looking out the window, staring longingly at the bay, in the old house.

That call so tempting.

_So terrifying._

"I'll convince her."

"You'll be killed."

Her voice comes out so much harsher than intended, and Charles stares blankly at her face. As if trying to understand her. It's probably a tough task, since she's having trouble with that herself.

Why is she so opposed to that plan? With him out of the way, everything would be so much easier.

Not to mention, she wouldn't have to worry anymore. Worry about what would happen if she betrayed him again, which she'll most certainly be forced to do.

_...swear on **his**  life..._

If this man is hanged, it will be one hell of an obstacle taken away from their path to success.

_And maybe that's exactly what is going on in Flint's head, right now? Maybe that's **exactly**  what he's counting on?_

The engines in her brain are still turning when his voice brings her back to the here and now.

"I still think he's plotting something. And so do you." He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer to the desk. "Feel like sharing?"

She keeps his eyes for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing together on their own accord. Then there's no expression on her face at all, and she's simply staring down at the food again.

His chuckle is acid and dry.

Only when he leaves, and she hears him locking the door, does she sigh heavily.

The bowl is pushed away and she puts her elbows on the surface of the desk, hiding her face in her hands.

_Shit._

* * *

It's late afternoon when they finally drop achor. Her eyes drink it all in as she stands by the rail on the starboard side of the Fancy.

The port, the town, the patrol boats.

_She's home._

And it's such a huge surprise, but she actually  _is_  happy. It's been so long since she last saw her father. She misses him horribly, and the mere perspective of being in his arms again is enough to bring a bright smile to her face.

Though what lies in the near future does come haunt her, she still feels that bubble of excitement in her chest.

_Home_.

The other ship is right beside them, and she lets her eyes skim over the deck, those men so different from captain Vane's own crew members.

One of them stands out among the others. He's talking to a group of maybe five other men, and for some strange reason, she feels that bubble of excitement growing bigger.

Especially when he meets her eyes, and she can't help but wave at him.

She can't hear what he's saying all the way from here, of course, but her smile widens when he hesitantly waves back. His attention is then focused back on the men, and as he finishes talking, they all share a look. One of them says something, the others seem to agree.

And shortly after, Billy is climbing up the rigging, thick, rough looking ropes hanging from his shoulder.

Her lips part slightly as he goes up, making it look so easy. She can also see the muscles straining under the skin of his arms-

"You would think the riggers would be the ones to do such a job."

She jumps slightly at the voice, taking a moment to realize where it came from.

There's a woman standing by the rail of the other ship, right in her field of vision. She'd clearly raised her voice in order to be heard properly, and there's a warm smile on her face.

Abigail could have sworn she's seen her before.

"The footrope up there, it needs to be repaired. Unfortunately, there was a tragedy a few days ago. A man fell to his death. And they see it as a bad omen, but luckily, we have a brave hero among us."

The strangely familiar woman looks up, and she follows her eyes.

He's up there by now, already getting to work, and her mouth suddenly feels dry.

"His name is Billy. In case you're wondering."

Her cheeks burn.

The woman practically yelled those words, so she would hear them, but she's sure that most of the men aboard the other ship heard it too.

"Yes, I know." Is all she manages, and she's not used to raising her voice like this, so it sounds foreign to her own ears.

She frowns.

The woman is smiling warmly again, a nostalgic look on her face.

"My, how you have grown."

So she was right. They've seen each other before.

Her memories from her early childhood are all so blurry. Memories from when her mother, Victoria, was still alive.

And yet, if she tries hard enough, she can see a few clear images.

"I believe I remember you. From before."

Her voice is quiet and soft. The woman frowns, leaning forward a bit.

"What?"

"I said I rememb-"

_" Captain Vane! Captain Vane!"_

The words die in her throat and she looks over her shoulder, heart skipping a beat.

The calls are coming from the other side of the ship, and she can't see who the voice belongs to. Her eyes find the captain, he's stepping out of his quarters. She's surprised to see Eleanor at his side.

_Is he letting her out of his cabin? How did she manage to convince him?_

He's obviously heard the yells too, so he says something to the blonde, gripping her arm in a clear gesture of warning before shoving her away from him.

Abigail can see her clenching her jaw, all the way from here. She glares deadly daggers at the captain's retreating form, then she's walking over to the rail on the starboard side too.

They don't say a word to each other, simply sharing a quick look and listening to the new voice filling their ears as the captain stares down at the water, on the port side of the ship.

"Are you Captain Vane?"

As he confirms his identity, Eleanor speaks. Her voice is quiet, so no else would hear. And Abigail could swear there's a hint of worry, perhaps even grief, to her tone.

"Is he going ashore now?"

With a shake of her head, the teen smiles softly.

"No. I convinced him not to. But he doesn't trust me, so I'm not going without him, either."

"How will it work, then?"

_"We received your letter..."_

"These men on the boat. I will tell them about the change of plans, and they will make sure my father receives the news..."

_"...and your demands..."_

"...Only when the new demand is met, will I leave this ship. Double the original amount... To be split between both captains."

"Does you father have that sort of money?"

Abigail meets her eyes again, simply smiling and nodding her head. Eleanor narrows her eyes briefly.

"And is he willing to sacrifice it?"

_"We are prepared to pay..."_

With a frown, Abigail breaks eye contact. "We have been away from each other for years, but my father cares about me. He really does."

The blonde sighs heavily. "He certainly has a strange way of showing it."

_"...the sum you requested for Abigail Ashe!"_

Hearing her name, she leaves her spot by the rail, crossing the deck as quickly as possible. It's difficult to hold her skirts with just her left hand, and Billy's gun feels almost like an extension of her right arm by now.

She never lets go of it.

As she reaches the rail on the port side, she sees the boat down there. The men are clearly relieved to see her face, and she shares a look with the captain before delicately clearing her throat.

"Gentlemen, there has been a change of plans. And if you would be so kind to deliver this message to my father..."

They all stare at her as if she'd grown a second head. It seems none of them expected her to be the one handling this situation, much less with such a loud, strong voice.

She's just trying to copy Eleanor, in truth. It seems to be working.

"Please tell him that I am safe. I am unharmed. I was treated with nothing but the utmost respect by this crew and their captain, so I expect nothing but clemency from him. He is not to harm any of these men. But as you can see, we have... some company."

She looks over her shoulder at the other ship, briefly. The next words of her speech spring to the tip of her tongue, and it's such a surprise. This is flowing so much better than she'd expected.

"That other crew, they helped keep me safe too. So I expect them to be rewarded as well. The captain's new demand is double the sum originally requested. Once that amount is delivered, I will be free to leave this ship."

They all hesitate, sharing a look amongst themselves, but apparently, they know there's nothing they can do. Not while she's still in the pirates' possession.

"As per our agreement." She says, her voice back to normal, as the boat retreats.

The captain nods at her before gesturing towards one of the hatches.

"Should go back to your cabin now."

Forcing a smile, she walks away.

Just as she's about to go down the stairs, however, she glances at the other ship again. More specifically, at the man working on the footrope up there.

Her eyes widen a bit as she realizes he's watching her too.

How long has he been looking at her? Did he see her handling the situation just now? Did he hear her speech?

Again, her cheeks burn.

Then she ducks her head and goes below deck.

Walking the darkened corridors, she swallows hard.

_Home_.

She'll be home in no time. Reunited with her father...

_And facing her duty._

She feels so unprepared.  _Nowhere_  near ready.

But if she can achieve something so great, it will be okay. She will face her fate with a raised chin, knowing that her memories of this epic adventure, her epic deed, wiil be something no one will ever be able to take away from her.

_They'll be her shelter, her secret refuge, always and forever._

* * *

As soon as Abigail disappeared below decks, she met his eyes again.

He had the ghost of a smirk on his face; all she wanted was to stride over to him and slap - maybe  _punch_  - it away, but she kept herself under control. Her forearm still hurts from when he gripped it a bit too tightly, warning her that if she tried to say a thing out here, he'd drag her straight to the brig.

Now she's keeping her mouth shut, enjoying all this fresh air, and he's watching her like a hawk, of course.

She's not allowed to speak, but her eyes wander to the other ship. Scott is staring at her, Flint by his side, and she swallows hard when the latter looks her way too.

Their time is limited, if she keeps eye contact for more than a few seconds, Charles will surely be upon her in a heartbeat.

Apparently, the other captain is just as aware of that fact.

His eyes move to one of the lifeboats. To the port, to his enemy, then right back to her face.

To anyone else, this would have gone unnoticed. But her mind is on full alert and the hidden message is clear as the light of day to her eyes.

_She understands._

The unsaid words ring in her ears, as if he had actually yelled them at the top of his lungs.

_Distract him._

Her heart drums in her chest, her palms are sweating. It's that night at the fort, all over again.

The nod of her head is barely perceptible. But it's enough to seal their silent agreement.

* * *

**Nassau**

"I wish I could say I was sorry. When I heard about your girl's fate."

Crickets chirp outside as he shares at the man sitting across the desk. A few candles illuminate both their faces, all of the oil lamps were lost during the rampage.

"But for so many years... I have watched her and her kind thieve and whore and kill like a  _plague_  upon this island, doing whatever they pleased because they could-"

"She's gone."

Underhill falls silent, and he reaches for the bottle between them. "My daughter's loss is nearly unbearable to me. Her mother was taken from us. That wound has yet to heal, and now..."

He trails off, the lies slipping so easily through his lips. With a heavy sigh, he refills his mug, then his new ally'sas well.

"To think of the fate she must have encountered... I warned her to stay away from that savage all those years ago. I  _did_  try to set her on the right path, she was willing to help us with our cause, but you know women... She put her emotions first and as result-"

"Pardon me, but you have been away for too long. Your daughter was not one to let herself be moved by emotion, rather than reason."

Silence hangs heavy as they stare at each other, and he clenches his jaw briefly before faking a sorrowful look.

"This one time, she did just that. And I lost her."

Truth is, he doesn't believe his own words.

At first, even though he told himself and others that Eleanor had betrayed them on her own free will, deep down he was sure she was dead. He thought she'd been caught in the tunnels and killed, but they searched the entire fort and no body was found.

After that, even as he tried to cling to his first theory, part of him believed that the pirate had taken her with them, forcibly, to use her for pleasure. Surely, that brute would kill her once she'd served her purpose.

But over the last couple of days, as he got familiar with the long story these two had shared in his absence... As he remembered what became of Low and his men, he was forced to change his mind.

His daughter is alive. He's now sure of it.

She could have been taken by force. Or she could have betrayed them on her own free will. It's what he tried to tell himself from the beginning, what his anger encourages him to believe in, but he will probably never know what really happened that night.

What he's absolutely certain of, however, is that right now she's not on their side anymore. She's joined forces with Vane.

And this is something he should  _definitely_  be worried about.

Hopefully Flint will be able to dispose of them, but he knows he can't just count on that.

All he can do for now is ensure that everything is under control over here.

"It does not offend me. The fact that you won't offer your condolences. This entire town seems to be celebrating her demise, and who am I to blame them? It does not matter. Whether they celebrate or lament her death; it will not bring her back." Downing his drink and clearing his throat, Richard forces a polite smile.

"On to happier subjects. I assumed you would appreciate to know that... The end of piracy in this place begins tonight."

With a frown on his face, Underhill leans forward a bit. "What do you mean?"

"Rumors fly around. You haven't heard a thing, so far inland, but around here... When you ask the right people, when you  _pay_  the right people... There is so much you can discover. Like a plan, by one of the crews. To reclaim a prize so large, it would upset our world here. Embolden piracy for decades to come. Well, I identified those men..."

The bottle is completely forgotten, and Underhill stares at him in a mix between surprise, suspicion and horror.

Drowning in pride, he can't help but smirk.

"...and I have ended their endeavor, before it began."

"You've  _ended_  it? How?"

* * *

Night has fallen outside, and she's back in the captain's quarters by now. Her plan is to wait until he comes bring their supper, and keep him occupied for the next few hours.

Hopefully it will be enough. She never really doubted Flint before, but this is pure  _insanity_.

Closing her book, she pushes it away from her. Her head feels as if it's about to explode, and her feelings are messy to say the least.

Being forced to stay in this cabin, this very cabin, where the signs of the fight are everywhere.

_The fight that ensured her own survival._

It was brutal, she's sure of it. There are blood stains everywhere, broken furniture, and it all combines into a vivid reminder of how damn hard Charles fought. She knows it, she knows that the mysterious prize in Low's possession was motivation for the crew. Solely the crew.

What drove  _him_  to act was her.

He did all of this to protect her. She tried so hard to convince herself he didn't do it for her, but now it's simply impossible.

Shifting slightly in her chair, she finds it again. That huge, red stain in the middle of the cabin, barely visible in the dim light. All that dried blood, so different from the other signs of the fight.

That's where it ended. Where that pig's head fell. For a second, she can hear the dull thud in her mind, and it sends a shudder down her spine.

She's always been so good at hating him. So good at shutting him out. But how can she keep doing so, when she's been spending her days in a room filled with reminders of what he did for her? The lengths he went to save her life?

_You better find a fucking way._

It's never been so hard to focus on her goals before. But she'll manage. Somehow.

The door creaks, and she mentally kicks herself when Charles comes in and catches her staring at the blood stain. She averts her eyes immediately, unable to see his reaction, and he stands at the door for a moment before closing it and walking up to her chair.

Not a single word leaves his lips as he sets their bowls on the desk, and she straightens up as he walks away again.

It's not a few seconds before she hears him locking the door. Shortly after, he's sitting on his chair across the table, and starting to eat without any ceremony.

No cutlery,  _again_ , and the food doesn't seem any more appealing than what she had at lunch.

But she needs to eat anyway.

With a heavy sigh, Eleanor faces her unfortunate fate.

"Any news?" She asks, between a bite of pitiful, unseasoned vegetables and poorly cooked meat. He shakes his head.

"Everything's quiet. I knew it could take awhile. Such a huge sum. My bet is that we won't hear from Lord Ashe until the morning."

She rolls her eyes, both at the sound of his voice and at how unfazed he seems by the disgusting food. He surely had far worse in the past, but  _she_  is not used to this at all.

Just as she's halfway finished with her food and he's getting to his feet, his bowl already empty, she grimaces and lets out a sound of complaint.

"Who in the world is cooking this  _shit_?"

He pauses, having reached the cabinet, and looks at her over his shoulder.

" _I_  am."

She nearly laughs. But the seriousness in his tone keeps her from doing so, and she watches as he returns to the table, new rum bottle in hand.

"When it comes to your food,  _ours_ , I mean. I prefer to be... safe. The possibility of a mutiny hasn't left my mind. They never got what they wanted. Either your blood or your... body. Or both.  _Preferably_  both."

Even in the dim light, she notices the way he clenches his jaw. He sits down, reaching for one of the wooden mugs.

"They never got that. And one of them in particular..."

As he trails off, shrugging, she frowns. He takes a drink, then sets the bottle close to her, so she could reach for it if she wanted to.

"I keep seeing warning signs. So I've been taking care of our meals myself."

"You really think they could have access to poison? That they would choose to get rid of you like this?"

Her voice is filled with disdain. Surprisingly, the corners of his lips twitch up.

"As I said. Safety measure."

Deciding she needed something strong to help with the nasty food, she grabs the bottle and fills her own mug.

"And I am the paranoid one."

To untrained ears, she would probably sound only cold and dismissive. But all she's trying to do is to hide the fact that she actually feels elated and impressed, deep down.

He probably knows that. Hence that half smirk on his face.

A few silent minutes later, she pushes the bowl away, not having managed to finish the food. But at least she had enough.

As she downs the rest of her rum, her eyes follow his right hand. He's reaching for the book resting near the edge of the desk, and as he touches the cover, a strange feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.

"What's so different 'bout this one?"

"Excuse me?"

"You really stuck to it. Read more than half of these pages in what, three days?" He touches the piece of paper she'd used as a bookmark, as if to emphasize his words. "Is it that good? This..."

As he squints at the book cover, she can't help but smile weakly.

" _Voyage Round the World_."

He meets her eyes in question and she shrugs, clearing her throat softly and reaching for the book too.

"It's what is written on the cover. Right above the author's name. See here?" Her fingers trace these elegant letters and she tries to ignore that bad feeling again. "Woodes Rogers."

Saying that name out loud doesn't help with her nerves. She can't really understand why.

"Stupid name." Charles concludes after a few moments of silence, and his words successfully break the tension.

She can't help but chuckle.

"Is it difficult?" He asks a few minutes later, when she's removing her coat and unfastening her belt, and she looks over at the desk. He's still seated at his chair, studying the book cover curiously. "To read?"

At first, all she can do is blink. Then she walks closer, setting her belt on the surface of the desk. "Not as difficult as it may seem. When you memorize how each letter is supposed to sound, it's pretty simple. That's the secret, in truth. This round one, for example, it sounds like-"

"You're trying to teach me now?"

She can hear how uncomfortable he is. But there's also this edge of curiosity to his voice, and she shrugs at him.

"Why not? Back when I was younger, I taught a slave or two-"

He stiffens, and she shuts up immediately.

_Poor choice of words._

She really didn't mean it like that.

A few tense, awkward moments go by, until she finally decides to try and mend things.

"It's interesting enough... This one book. It talks about distant places. Exotic tribes. I have a few favorite passages... in case you're interested."

She watches as his scowl slowly eases into a curious look. He glances up at her, then down at the book.

"Tribes?"

It's actually difficult to contain her smile. Grabbing the book, she nods at the bunk. It's where she prefers to read after nightfall, since the oil lamp hanging on the wall provides better illumination,

"Come on."

At first, she thinks he'll just ignore her. Just like she wished she could ignore that tiny spark of happiness in her heart, when she hears the chair moving and his heavy footsteps following her.

As they settle on opposite sides of the mattress, careful to keep their distance, she opens the book. Surprisingly, she's genuinely focused on this moment.

And her little exchange with Flint earlier has absolutely flown out of her mind for now.

* * *

"Are you hurt?"

"Mostly unscathed, thanks to Anne."

She frowns at that, looking at the door again just as the redhead walks in.

That lost, haunted look she had on her face when she left is gone. There are no traces of it at all.

"Mr Stayton and Mr Atz are dead."

Finally breaking eye contact with Anne, she throws Jack a glare.

"I  _warned_  you. This morning, I warned you not to tempt fate."

"This is  _her_  doing, isn't it?" Anne inquiries, and Max shakes her head before she's even finished speaking.

"No. It's all Richard. Eleanor is not here."

" _What_?"

"Charles took her.  _Very_ long story." Jack explains. They watch as the Anne scoffs at that, smirking and shrugging briefly.

"Tell me on the way. We can sail without these men. Fuck this. Fuck  _him_. We leave now."

They take a moment to react, but her tone leaves no room for argument. Featherstone walks out the door first, and Jack is about to do the same, but he stops in his tracks as the redhead walks up to Max.

Heart skipping a beat, he watches as Anne grabs one of her hands. They just stand there, probably communicating without words, and he wonders, once again, who is this new person he has in front of him.

Was she here all along, and he just failed to notice? The idea seems so  _absurd_ , but just maybe...

Once their little moment is over, she walks past him, out of the room.

His heart is still aching because of what he just saw. He shares a look with Max, before nodding weakly and finally closing the door. It's strange, but deep down, he actually hopes she'll be safe until their return.

_Maybe he cares about her. Just a little bit._

* * *

**Charlestown**

_Finally back in this world, and up until now, all he can feel is **emptiness.**_

Sitting here and staring out the window at the port, unable to see the two ships in the distance, he relives the last couple of hours in his mind.

Just as he'd suspected, it was an easy task for Eleanor to lure that animal back into his cabin and keep him there.

_He prefers not to think about which methods she used._

When he thought it was safe, they discreetly lowered one of the boats into the water. Charles' crew was busy drinking and playing cards, so it was easier than he thought it would be.

Sheltered by the darkness of the night, they soon made it to the beach.

Their "welcome party" was far from pleasant, but once they were face to face with Peter, once he recognized them, things changed.

_Until he revealed his new identity, that is._

For a moment, he was sure they were doomed. But his ability with words had never failed him before, and he decided this wouldn't be the first time.

He used Abigail. He used their past. He used  _everything_  he could. Peter was clearly grateful about the fact that he was around to make sure the girl would not be harmed by Charles and his crew. And soon enough, they found themselves discussing matters peacefully. Soon enough, a deal was proposed to him.

The words are still fresh in his mind, and he scowls to himself.

_You will tell them about the affair with Thomas._

_...how it ended._

_...what it drove you to do._

_...Captain Flint will be unmasked..._

_...flawed man, a man that England can relate to and offer its forgiveness._

They've been staying in this room for the last 15 minutes or so, as he tries to make his decision.

His time is limited.

Before sunrise, he will need to return to the ship. Act as if he'd never left. Wait until Abigail is safe and sound, at home.

Only then, Peter will sink the Fancy and they will bring their plans to life.

_If he accepts the deal, that is._

"The clock, earlier. It caught my eye."

He'd nearly forgotten Miranda was here. Looking at her over his shoulder, he waits. She's staring at the wall, eyebrows furrowed together.

"I do not know why, but it caught my eye."

_Now that she mentions it..._

There's a wave of deja vu, but it's brief, and he soon dismisses that strange feeling.

She seems to snap out of it too, and her eyes are filled with exhaustion as she looks from the wall to his face.

"Are you even considering it?"

He watches her in silence for a short moment.

"Did I ever tell you where that name came from?"

She just shakes her head, and he immediately begins to tell her the familiar tale. It's the first time he ever says it all, out loud. Unleashing everything that's been trapped in his head for the last decade.

He didn't think it would feel this liberating. But it does. And by the time he's finished, there's a weak smile on his face.

"Did I even consider it? Every day I've worn that name I've hated him a little more. I've been ready to return him to the sea for a long time. So now... It's time. Not only did I consider it..."

He gets to his feet, offering her his hand. She stares at his fingers for a moment, then up at his face.

"...I will  _accept_  this deal."

Something shines in her eyes. A smile slowly appears on her face and she takes his hand, letting him help her to her feet too.

Together, they walk to the door.

* * *

_"...I shall conclude this Head with a brief Account of the Natives of Brazile. They are divided into several Nations, and speak different Languages. They are not born black, but become so by the Heat of the Sun. They have black eyes, black curl'd hair. Those who inhabit the inland Parts know scarce any thing of Religion; but they have a sort of Priests, or rather, Conjurers, who pretend to foretell what's to come. These people-"_  Charles lets out a scoff on the other side of the bunk, and she raises her eyes from the book for a moment. He's frowning at some random spot on the wall, so she simply ignores him and continues to read aloud.  _"These people are much afraid of Apparitions and Spirits, and make Offerings to pacify 'em. Some of 'em are mightily addicted to Sorcery, to revenge themselves upon their Enemies; and they have others who pretend to cure those that are so bewitch'd."_

" _Pretend. Sorcery._  Bet if anyone dared to use these words while talking about his own religion, he'd be 'mightily' outraged."

She wasn't expecting that.

Scowling to herself, she lowers the book.

"When I read this one passage before, I did not pay attention to the words he chose. But now that you mention it..."

She never really gave a damn about the Bible. It always made her bored. But back when she was little her father used to reinforce Catholic teachings in their home, while also punishing, severely, any slave who tried to practice their own religion. She always thought it was wrong.

If he and her mother had the right to read the Bible every day, why would he take a freedom so similar away from other people?

"The next part speaks of how the Castilians converted some of the natives. But the Dutch ministers were more successful."

He shakes his head. "Would have been better to leave the tribes alone. Instead of shoving their beliefs down their throats. I also heard about how these  _good men_  killed, raped and enslaved most of them. They should have never discovered these people. "

For the first time in days, hell, weeks, she has to admit they agree on something.

Clearing her throat, she breaks the uncomfortable eye contact.

"This next part is curious... And I find it very, very revolting."

That piques his interest and he leans forward a bit. Closer, but not enough for their bodies to touch.

" _'The Brazilian Women are very fruitful, have easy Labour, retire to the Woods where they bring forth alone, and return after washing themselves and their Child; the Husbands lying in a bed the first 24 hours, and being treated as if they had endur'd the Pains',_  can you  _fucking_  believe it?"

It seems to amuse him; how quickly she'd read that part, nearly stumbling on the words, in order to let her irritation out. He smirks, shaking his head.

"Makes me think of something. Why do I have the feeling that Jack would be the one responsible for all the drama, if that woman ever had a child of theirs?"

That catches her completely off guard, and she just has to laugh. At the - _very realistic_  - scenario he'd described, at his tone and the look on his face, at the crazy idea of  _Anne_  bringing a child into the world.

It's all too much for her brain.

"Still, isn't it ridiculous? As if a  _man_ would be even  _remotely_  capable of handling that sort of pain."

"You underestimate us."

"Oh, don't make me laugh!"

It's surreal. A few hours ago, things between them were tense as a bowstring. There was anger, resentment and hatred.

Now they have this easy atmosphere going on, she has her back to the wall by now, her legs resting on the bunk. He's sitting at the edge of the mattress, and when her left foot accidentally touches his leg, he doesn't flinch away.

"You've never even experienced that kind of pain yourself. You're not one to talk." He teases, and she scoffs in outrage.

It contrasts with the stubborn smile on her face.

"But I know women who have, and they say there is nothing worse. Besides, I  _do_  get a small sample of that pain every month, and it's already enough to make me want to kill someone."

With a dry chuckle, he meets her eyes again. In this moment, he looks years younger. And she freezes when she recognizes something in those blue depths.

_That unguarded, intense look of love and adoration that had become so familiar over the years._

Her chest tightens. The last time he directed that look at her was that night at the fort. Before she tried to leave.

Apparently, he catches himself. She sees the exact moment his walls come back up, all the love fading away. His smile falls as he averts his eyes.

"Read that part again. The one about the apes."

After considering him for a couple of seconds, she lowers her eyes to the book, going back a few pages.

" _'The Wives follow their Husbands to War and elsewhere, and carry their Luggage in a Basket, with a Child hung about them in a piece of Callico, a Parrot or an Ape in one hand, and leading a Dog by a string in the other.'_  This one?"

Charles nods, making a face and getting to his feet.

"Too exaggerated, to say the least." He flexes his arms, heaving a sigh and keeping his back to the bunk.

"Don't know what you saw in that stupid book." Is his verdict, and she rolls her eyes before closing said book.

"It did keep you absorbed for a while."

"I was mentally making fun of the author."

"I see."

Setting the book aside, she shifts into a more comfortable position. Her back is stiff due to being pressed to the wooden wall for the last couple of hours, and she rolls her shoulders with a grimace.

Charles is in the process of filling his mug with more rum, and she considers the idea of drinking some more too. They'll probably just go to bed for tonight, there will be no news from dry land until the morning, so she might as well try and relax...

"Something wrong?"

She meets his eyes as he raises the mug to his lips.

"It would be easier to ask what is  _not_  wrong... How did we get ourselves into this mess?"

"His fault."

" _His_? Really?" Eleanor gets to her feet, keeping eye contact even as he downed his drink.

"You think we're bad, they're worse. The other ones." He sets the mug down on the table, a bit too harshly, then gestures at the book she'd been reading. "You know nothing about that world."

"And  _you_  do?"

"I've  _seen_  them."

She's not sure why, but she begins to move closer to the table, a scowl firmly on her face.

"You have lived your whole life among the ones they see as the enemy. You really think they'd just accept you with open arms? You're  _tainted_ , Eleanor, impure. Made of imperfections... Just like the people from those tribes in Brazile. They  _don't_  like that."

She stops a mere couple of feet away from him. He's sneering at her by now, his tone almost mocking, and her jaw clenches hard.

"Even if you try your hardest to blend in. Even if you tell them you want to be just like them. In the end, they cannot tell the difference between you and I. And there's nothing you can do to change that."

It's a familiar anger coursing through her system. The one that comes whenever he forces her to face the truth, and it shouldn't be the case now. What he's saying is not the truth, after all. He'd been right about a few things in the past, but... not  _now_.

_Not now._

"So that is why you were so opposed to our plans?" She inquiries, returning all the mockery from barely a minute ago.

What is her surprise when his eyes soften for just a split second.

"I am opposed, because I wish for  _her_  to remain free. Like me."

Her heart skips a beat as he moves closer. She can feel his breath on her cheek as his eyes move over the little details of her face.

"It would be a lie, however... If I said that my prime goal, back home, wasn't to keep you safe from  _them_."

She's quick to realize that he's trying to bring her to his side.

Her brain is telling her to just ignore the words, tell him he never really gave a damn about her, then go to bed and try to get some sleep.

She knows he's just trying to get inside her head. Still, he sounded so sincere. And even though she still has that scowl on her face, her walls solid and high all around her, she finds herself unable to move away.

It actually feels as if they're back in the tavern, just before Low started to wreak havoc downstairs. Except this time they're much closer.

But just like then, their moment is broken, all too soon.

The heavy banging of a fist against the undamaged door makes her jump slightly. They both snap their heads in its direction.

_"Charles!"_

Her blood runs cold. It's that same man who questioned her presence at the fort, she remembers his voice. And the fact that he just called for his own captain in such a careless, disrespectful manner, only makes her more uneasy.

His words from earlier, about a possible mutiny, are ringing persistently in her head. His words, about the men wanting her blood and her body. Her eyes are wide as she looks at his face again, wordlessly urging him to do  _something_.

Just then, they hear a soft, timid knocking on the other door. And they know it can only be  _one_ person, so he's quick to push the table out of the way and pull the ruined door open.

Sure enough, there she is, with her big doe eyes, the gun in her hand and a very strange look on her face.

Charles is grabbing her arm and hastily pulling her inside the cabin before she can say a thing. That heavy banging persists as he slams the door shut, using his own body as a barricade this time.

"Kid-"

"Captain, I believe there is something wrong. I just went out there-"

" _Alone_?" Eleanor inquiries with a disapproving look on her face, and the teen looks from Charles to her.

"I was meaning to have a word with captain Flint; Billy even let me on their ship, but when I requested to see him..."

_"Open up!"_

"They all simply... They didn't know how to act. The curly haired one, he tried to talk to me and he was smiling, but I promptly realized that he was just trying... to distract me."

Just as Abigail says those last two words, he looks at Eleanor over his shoulder.

And she suddenly remembers that moment she had shared with Flint earlier.

It completely slipped her mind, sometime between dinner and when she proposed to read about the Brazilian natives, and only now did she remember. In the end, while reading about exotic tribes to Charles, she did exactly what Flint silently asked her to do. But she wasn't even aware of it.

It makes her very conflicted. She doesn't know whether she feels triumphant or absolutely desperate. Or maybe the strangest mix of  _both_.

But Charles, well, judging from the look in his eyes, he knows  _exactly_  how to feel about this.

"I think... I think he left, captain. To speak to my father. I think he waited until you were distracted, and then he broke our agreement."

His eyes fall closed for a moment, as he realizes he'd fallen right into her trap again.

_It breaks her heart._

Technically, it's not what he's thinking... She did distract him, but not  _purposefully_.

She was caught anyway.  _Again_. And she remembers what that means.

"I didn't know." She nearly blurts out the words, trying to take a few steps closer. "Charles, I  _swear_  I didn't-"

The ice cold look in his eyes makes her stop in her tracks.

Of course he wouldn't believe her. Not after everything that happened.

"If he fucks us, you know what will be the consequences. You know who's going to pay for it. So you better pray, and you better prepare for the worst." His voice is practically a growl as he grabs his cutlass from the table, then he shoots her a look of warning while holding the door open. "Don't you  _dare_  step foot outside this cabin again."

Once he leaves, she shares a brief look with Abigail. Then she doesn't think twice before disobeying and following him.

* * *

"What more do you want from me?"

"What do I want? I want to see this whole goddamn city, this city that you purchased with our misery, burn. I want to see you hanged on the very gallows you've used to hang men for crimes far slighter than this. I want to see that noose around your neck and I want to pull the fucking lever with my own two hands!"

That sickening, all too familiar sound fills his ears, and even as her body falls to the floor, it's hard to believe what just happened. It came out of nowhere, and somewhere in his mind, there's a meek voice trying to convince him that this isn't real. A self defense mechanism.

One he ignores, completely.

_"This is not what I wanted."_

The voice sounds distant. His vision goes red.

_"Do not shoot him. Don't shoot!"_

In the chaos that follows, he doesn't give a flying fuck what might happen to him. All he wants is to destroy, to kill, so he jumps at the first throat he can reach. Peter is still yelling something, he notices, but he's so focused on beating the shit out of the man he has pressed against the wall, that the words never even register.

There's pain on the back of his head. Repeated blows that do nothing to slow him down.

Until a particularly hard one sends him to the floor.

His head lolls to the side, and he can see her face.

_Lifeless eyes._

Blood oozing from the hole on her forehead. She already looks like yet another ghost that'll come back to haunt him.

_You wish to return to civilization. **That** is what civilization is._

The words echo in his mind. There's the briefest sting of tears in his eyes, just before everything goes black.

* * *

**Nassau**

"We still have a deal, then?"

Underhill narrows his eyes, judging him for a few long moments, before finally nodding his head.

"Yes."

"Good... Well, before they come back from their quest, we have much work to do-"

"Just so we are clear... Sir." He finishes what's probably his 7th glass of rum, his speech slurring a bit."When you came to me seeking sanctuary, telling me you wished to resist the continued presence of the pirates, you told me you'd repented for your past sins. You seemed so genuinely contrite."

Not too far behind, Richard downs another glass as well. He's lost count by now, all he knows is that the bottle between them is nearly empty.

"I knew your reputation... I knew you were most likely telling me the story I wanted to hear, but your contrition was utilitarian at best. This is the only reason why I agreed to help... And I hope that I will not regret my decision."

He takes a moment to put on a reassuring, polite smile and extend his hand, his reactions delayed by the alcohol.

They reinforce their agreement with a handshake before getting to their feet.

There is not another soul in the tavern at this hour, the place is absolutely darkened as he shows his guest to one of the doors.

It's very late, and they closed early today, so it's normal for the tavern to be this deserted. But even the brothel across the street is eerily calm...

The street itself is silent. The beach, also.

_**Too**  silent._

A strange feeling settles in the pit of his stomach and he tries to shrug it off, telling himself it must be normal even for a town such as this one.

As he opens the door, he's proved wrong.

The brothel is closed. The nearby buildings are closed. Something must have happened, and when his eyes find the dead bodies on the ground, he realizes there is something very,  _very_  wrong.

"What is this? Who are you?"

"Are you Underhill?"

_Hornigold?_

He's still drunk, of course, and his vision is foggy as he raises his eyes to the men standing a few feet away from the corpses. There are horses too.

"I am."

"Then I suggest you step aside, sir. We've no quarrel with you. However, in the light of our initial target's recent demise..." Hornigold is already staring at him as one stares at a valuable prize, when he meets his eyes.

Swallowing hard, he tries not to show fear.

"...We  _will_  be taking her father."

Immediately, he tries to turn around and seek shelter inside the tavern.

The men are upon him before he can even slam the door shut. He ends up on the ground, his hands are bound behind his back while a gag is placed in his mouth. Everything turns black, there's something keeping him from seeing a thing, rough fabric rubbing against his face. He's pulled to his feet and dragged away by the men.

If anyone hears his muffled screams, they never dare to come to his aid.

* * *

It's pure, absolute chaos.

When she makes it to the deck, the girl hot in her heels, they're met with what will soon become another battlefield.

There's a gangway connecting both ships, probably the one Abigail used to board the other vessel earlier, and they watch as Charles does just that. He's immediately confronting Silver, his men following him. It soons escalates to a physical fight, and Abigail's voice is shaky as she runs after him, yelling at them to stop.

As soon as she makes it to the other ship, as soon as her feet touch the deck, there's a figure appearing right behind her. Completely out of nowhere. The stranger grabs her arms, just as she's raising the gun to fire a warning shot at the sky, and Eleanor's heart leaps to her throat. She's rushing towards the gangplank immediately, intent on helping the girl, until she realizes it's just Billy.

He brings her right arm down harshly and she instinctively pulls the trigger. Unfortunately for him, the bullet grazes his leg. Eleanor can see his grimace of pain as he successfully tears the gun away from Abigail's right hand.

_It's a huge relief, but it doesn't last._

The violence is growing with each passing second, and this time, she's caught right in the middle of it. Men fight all around her, and she yells at Billy, commanding him to take the girl away.

Charles hears her voice, and she sees the raw anger in his eyes as he realizes she'd disobeyed him for what's probably the 1000th time, this year alone.

Just as she's looking all around, trying to find a safe place to hide, a new voice cuts through the mayhem.

_"Pirate vessels! Pirate vessels!"_

It would have been comical, if the situation wasn't so delicate, stressful and serious.

One pirate restraining a proper young lady, trying to get her away from the danger. Dozens of brutes in the middle of a battle. They all just stop. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos ends.

They're all silent now, listening intently.

_"What follows is a message from the Lord Governor of the Carolina Colony!"_

Slowly, they all make their way to the rail on the starboard side. Only Billy stays behind, trying his best to hold the angry teenager still.

She finds a vacant spot right next to Charles. He barely glances at her as she stops by his side, staring down at the boat and the man delivering the message.

_"I trusted the good faith of your arrival and I accepted Captain Flint as my guest in the same spirit. But I now regret to inform you that he has violated that trust in a most deceitful manner. "_

"What?" She nearly chokes out the word. Her fears are confirmed with the next few words.

_"Therefore I've placed him under arrest. This trial and its resulting sentence will be swift, just, and final."_

"No." Abigail's shaky voice sounds from behind them, but she pays the child no mind.

_"And it will reestablish beyond any shadow of a doubt that the rule of law lives in Carolina, that the men and women of this place will not shrink from you, from any of you, from any like you, and that the death of piracy in the New World has never been nearer than today."_

Her heart is drumming in her chest. Faintly, she realizes that Silver is standing to her left, his hands gripping the rail tight.

She looks at Charles just as he's glancing at her, and they keep eye contact, both of them as stunned by the news as everyone else. Her lips are parted and he has a scowl on his face. There's no way for her to tell what's going on inside his head.

_"At the conclusion of this trial, if your ships remain, I will seize or sink them. As for our unfinished business, here I kindly offer the new amount requested, in exchange for the safe return of my only child. Should you fight, or harm her in any way, retaliation will follow swiftly."_

At this point, two of the men are climbing up the ladder already, and no one tries to protest as they come on board.

The heavy, huge bags are dropped to the deck, probably containing the exact amount Abigail had talked about earlier.

Next, they're walking over to Billy.

"Unhand her."

Her eyes go wide and she somehow turns around in his arms, facing him.

"Don't let them. Not like this; I am  _not_  ready."

He swallows hard. As he tries to hand her over to the men, she grips his arms tightly. Her fingernails dig into his skin.

"You  _promised_."

He knows she's talking about the promise he'd made back when he found her in the Fancy, and his chest tightens.

He swore to himself he'd see that promise through, but that's exactly what he's doing, isn't it? She will be okay, at home, in the safety of her father's arms. Where she belongs.

_Right?_

With a heavy sigh, he pushes her away. Her eyes fill with tears and she lets go of him.

Lowering her head to the floor, she lets the men lead her to the ladder. It looks like she's heading to her own funeral, and as she walks past them, Eleanor debates with herself whether to say something or not. In the end, she decides not to, and a couple of minutes later, they watch as the boat disappears in the darkness.

In the wake of this new turn of events, she decides she's had enough. Stepping away from the rail, she clears her throat to get the men's attention.

"I understand this is your environment, not mine. But I remain the same person, and I suggest that you all remember who I am-"

"And I suggest you  _lower_  your damn head-"

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

Ignoring John's words completely and meeting Charles' eyes when he practically growls out that question, she draws a deep breath.

"Saving him, and  _us all_  in the process. The most feared pirate hanged in that port? What will the world think of us?"

.

_Us._

She clearly regrets saying that word.

Stepping closer to him, Eleanor shakes her head. "You were right. They  _can't_  tell the difference between you and I."

He doesn't buy it for a  _second_. She didn't bend. She just came up with some scheme, and in fact, their brains seem to be working together. He's catching up, somehow already knowing what her plans are.

Her voice is stronger, louder, when she speaks again. Now she's slowly pacing around, looking each one of the pirates in the eyes, briefly.

"Nassau is strongest when she's feared. And if what promises to happen here tomorrow actually happens..."

To see her like this, in the deck of a ship, using her bossy, commanding voice with all these men... This is hitting him righ in his weakest spot.

She fits  _right_  in. It's incredible.

_She's incredible._

"...a trophy made of one of her most notorious captains..."

"...she may never be feared again." He supplies, causing her to fall silent. She looks at his face again, probably realizing he was on to her plans, and he swears he can see the ghost of a smile on her face.

He knows she's only trying to save Flint, her words are a necessary means to an end.

But his heart is beating fast, because he's too familiar with her by now. Often, he can tell whether her words are empty or not. She'd sounded far too energetic just now, and he's sure she doesn't know it yet, but she actually means  _every single word_  of her speech.

_Us._

She's a pirate too, and deep down, it's a fact she doesn't fully deny just yet.

_It's **not**  too late._

With a half smirk, he finally looks away from her. "So I suggest we do something about this."

Facing the men, his and his enemy's, he nods in the direction of the port.

"I suggest we get him the hell out of there!"

* * *

He can barely see a thing. Over and over again, he trips on his own feet, on the uneven ground.

The rough rope bites into the skin of his wrists. He feels it as the grass becomes sand, and they finally stop.

"Captain Hume."

His feet ache. It feels as if they've walked for hours. No one said a word to him, he still has no idea what's going on.

"I understand you hold in your possession 10 pardons for whomever was to deliver you Captain James Flint. I wonder if I can't do better."

As the sack is removed from around his head, he squints. Dawn has just arrived and the sun hurts his eyes.

As soon as he sees the men standing right in front of them, he knows he's in  _deep_  shit.

"This is Richard Guthrie, the real trade boss of Nassau, also father of the woman who  _supposedly_  lorded over a savage pirate kingdom as if it were a plaything. I'm certain you heard of her."

He catches up quickly. His eyes go wide as he looks at Hornigold.

And the lies begin to slip, easily, past his lips.

"People often weave tales just for the sake of it. She was, in truth, nothing but a spoiled, self-entitled young girl who's recently met her cold death at sea. But her father here, he's the one who started all of this. The real legend. The one without whom this illegal kingdom cannot function."

For the last few years, all he did was live off the profit, while trying to prove to others and to himself that he was the  _real_ , proud king of this empire. Not  _her_.

Now, when someone is finally selling his image as such, all he wants is to scream the truth. To scream that it was all her, she's the queen, he's nothing-

_The cruel ironies of fate._

"Imagine, sir, how London would react to the arrival of the king of thieves. Imagine the spectacle of his trial. Imagine the celebrity that'll be heaped upon his captor."

An envelope falls to the sand. He glances down at it, but then he's being shoved, grabbed and pulled alongside the mysterious men. All the while, he tries to fight. There's not much he can do, however, with his hands restrained behind his back.

He's not the king.

His child is alive and  _she_  is the queen, the one they want. Not  _him_.

_He's nothing._

It's what he keeps trying to yell, the gag in his mouth muffling his voice. Even if he could actually make them understand the words, he doubts it would work.

There's a ship in the distance. As they approach a rowboat, there is only one thought in his mind.

_He's fucking doomed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was SO satisfying to write that last part.
> 
> Only one more chapter to go until we reach the ending of season two! After that, before I begin to rewrite the events of season three, there will be some "filler" chapters, as I want to explore the time between episodes XVIII and XIX and focus on some character/relationships development. They will be in peace for a while, guess they deserve it lol
> 
> I'll be away from home until the 2nd of March, so I'll probably only start working on chapter 8 after that :/ I promise I'll be quick though. As much as I can. But even if it takes me a while, I'm really invested in this story by now, so no worries, I won't forget about it :)
> 
> Oh, and yes, it's a headcanon of mine that Charles can't read/write. That letter could have been written by another person. It seems very plausible to me. When he was young, obviously the last concern in his master's head would be to educate him. And after he was free, I just can't see him worrying about this sort of stuff.
> 
> I could be wrong, but I prefer to believe this, merely because I love to think about Eleanor teaching him. It's so SWEET. And I will definitely be writing that in the future.


	8. Enemy of my Enemy

_Allied in duality, revolution born,_

_Formation of a new regime, troopers of the perfect storm,_

_Brothers in arms, the defenders of faith,_

_Side by side, and united in hate,_

_The enemy of my enemy descends,_

_The enemy of my enemy becomes my friend._

* * *

**_Charles Town_ ** **_,_ **

**_Now_ **

That image is still oh so clear in her mind, and she simply does not know what to make of it.

The woman who'd smiled at her, those gentle eyes filled with the strangest affection and nostalgia. It's hard to accept the fact that they're so lifeless now.

Her pale skin, the hole in her forehead. The body, cold and limp as some of her father's men carried it out the front as she came in.

It was an accident, it seems, he didn't mean for her to see that scene. But she did, and even as he tried to hug and comfort her, she couldn't help but sink to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

For years, she kept dreaming about their reunion, how wonderful it would be, but real life seemed to have other plans.

She demanded an explanation.

She never really got one.

And now she can't help but wonder if this is really her life, certain as the sounds echoing through the room belong to the piano key she keeps pressing.

There's someone by her side, she suddenly realizes, and his words begin to register through the fog in her brain.

"...arrangements for you to be shuttled to Savannah today."

The sound that's been her only companion for the past few hours fills her ears again, and then she's unable to move her hand anymore.

Frowning to herself, she looks away from the large fingers gripping her cold, fragile ones. There's the faintest hint of concern in her father's eyes, and it takes her a moment to find her voice.

"What?"

"To Mr. Ashford."

The name makes her shiver in the most unpleasant way.

"Already?"

"Alfred and his sister will be glad to receive you. And I will be joining you shortly. When you get there, it's best to keep to yourself and not try their patience. The twins are known for having... a strong personality when it comes to certain subjects."

Swallowing hard, she can't help but shake her head.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Her eyes are lowered to the piano again and she feels that increasingly familiar prickle of tears.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The last few letters... You said we would be spending some time together. Before... business needed to be dealt with. You wrote to me, that Savannah could wait for a couple of days. That we could just enjoy each other's company at first."

Her words are met with nothing but silence at first. At the back of her mind, she thinks it's a wonder her voice didn't break at all.

"Your arrival was delayed. Take that in consideration. And you know what's going to happen in the square today... don't you?" "Yes, you're going to kill captain Flint."

Her tone is neutral, her words swift, and her father's surprise is clear even though she didn't see it with her own eyes.

Once he recovers, he gives her hand a soft squeeze.

"I don't want you around to see it."

It's unladylike at best, but still, she scoffs at his words.

Just like Eleanor would do whenever she spoke about the captain.

"I know what you do. I have  _always_  known. So why send me away?"

"It's different this time, and you are well aware of that. A trial such as this one... It will arouse a great deal of passion. A great deal of ugliness. I do not wish to expose you to that."

His firm, reassuring grip on her hand is a sliver of comfort.

And she decides she hates it.

"When do I leave?"

"Three hours. I will be at the trial, but Mr. Bennett will wait for you behind the stables."

A thousand words come to the tip of her tongue. A hundred sentences, a hundred accusations, and in the end, she draws a deep breath.

"I will be ready by then."

"It pains me too. But I'm only doing what is best for you. As I have always done. You know that... Don't you?"

Her lips curve into a soft smile and she meets his eyes again.

"I do."

Relief written all over his face, he nods, releasing her hand and leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

Just as he's walking away, her smile falls. Her words stop him in his tracks.

"However... I cannot help but wonder. Is it really for my welfare that you want me to leave, or your own?"

Staring at her back as if she'd grown a second head, he takes a single step closer to the piano.

"What?"

"You raised me to respect the truth. To know it is the root of all virtue. I'm asking if you're sending me away to my fiancee early... because you're afraid someone might ask me what happened in this house last night, and that I would tell them."

"Abigail, I understand that you're upset-"

"Why aren't you? After what you told me last night, when I arrived. You were once friends with him. And that woman... she cared enough to come with captain Flint. To make sure I was safe. He was willing to take such a huge risk, to take me from captain Vane's custody back at the island. I know what his goals were, I know he was primarily driven by them, but I also know that both of them cared about me to a certain extent."

So much for keeping her voice from breaking...

A tear slides down her left cheek and she wipes it away, her free hand gripping the fabric of her skirts tightly. Shifting in the bench so she could face him again, she tries hard not to break.

_It's what Eleanor would do._

"They wanted to rescue me. To deliver me home. Now one of them is dead, the other is about to be. And the  _only_  man, who seems to me, to have committed a crime in all this... still works for  _you_."

The feelings bubbling in her chest are all too foreign. But they're strong; and they cause her such great discomfort and sorrow.

They fuel something even more unfamiliar to her.

_Anger_.

"Is that not the  _truth_?"

Her voice comes out louder than intended, and surprisingly, she doesn't feel like scolding herself.

Stunned, her father stands there for a few moments, jaw dropping slightly. He's looking at her as if she's a person he's never seen before, and it  _stings_.

But her chest feels just a little bit lighter now, and she cherishes the small relief.

Even if it is short lived.

* * *

**_Fancy,_ **

**_6 hours ago_ **

"Go ashore? Turn yourself in?"

Charles doesn't even look at her, working on pushing the desk so it was barricading the broken door again.

Once more, she's frustrated at how opposed she sounds.

_It's almost as if she's worried about him_.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Testimony. They'd listen, right?" He faces her, the two other men in the cabin pretty much forgotten for now. "If I show up there and tell them about my intentions, they'd listen. Isn't it his right or something like that?"

"And after? You don't expect to convince them-"

"By that time, words won't be necessary anymore."

Her eyebrows furrow together and she just gives him a questioning look, already knowing she wouldn't like whatever was going to come next

"My men are studying the city walls as we speak, more precisely, the cannons. All I'll have to do is give a sign."

The calm, the neutrality with which he said those words, only make her even more livid.

"This has got to be one of the most stupid things I have ever heard from your mouth." "It is. But given our disadvantage, our current resources, our current location, and our limited time, there's no alternative. You know that."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Eleanor keeps his stare. He's actually right, she realizes; they need to act soon, whether their move is reckless and risky or not. Otherwise, it could be too late.

_Maybe she **is**  worried about his safety, in truth..._

But she needs Flint alive either way.

"So you want them to bomb that town, while you and him somehow escape from a trial and fight your way back to the sea."

"That's how it goes. Hopefully."

With a mocking look in her eyes, she cocks her head to the side slightly.

"You do realize both of you will be in shackles."

His shoulders stiffen a little, and she's the only one who notices the brief trace of panic in his eyes. It shouldn't matter, but her heart tightens.

_She **hates**  herself for it._

He's recovered just a second later, simply smirking at her as John finally reminded them of his and Billy's presence in the cabin.

"And our own men?" His voice grabs their attention and they break their stare down, looking in his direction.

"It surprises me you didn't even try to put us under any sort of restraint."

_Indeed_.

Frowning, she lets her eyes wander the cabin slowly.

_How come he didn't even **think**  about it?_

"Might need help."

It's hard to fight the urge to scoff.

She knows him. That shouldn't be enough of a reason, and he doesn't fool her for a second.

"You trust ours enough for that?"

"We share an interest in seeing Flint rescued. There's no way to foretell what will come after this, but right here, right now, we face a war that we must somehow face together. And causing trouble wouldn't make much sense, would it?"

Silence reigns in the cabin for a few seconds.

No one likes the situation, clearly, but no one has a better solution either.

"What is it you want our help with?"

"Those of mine who'll remain in the ship... They might feel inclined to take the money and leave. Keep them from doing so, if need be. They'll be outnumbered and I am confident that things will stand still until I return."

Now standing by one of the windows and staring out at the horizon, she swallows hard.

Shit, she hadn't thought about this particular detail before. With him gone, she'll be at his men's mercy. And the only soul who'd give a fuck about protecting her is Scott, but she knows there's not much he'd be able to do.

_Not **alone** , at least..._

A strange thought suddenly comes to her mind, and she looks at Charles over her shoulder.

_No, it couldn't be... Could it?_

"And don't you realize there will be consequences from that after this entire business is finished? Those men will surely rebel against you."

"I know." Charles' answer is swift, and she turns around, still looking at his back as he talked to Billy and John.

To  _John_ , in truth, as Billy just seems to be deep in thought.

"I've seen which ones are loyal. The ones who'll be following me. Luckily, that number largely exceeds the ones who'll stay behind.

They've been showing warning signs since the moment we left home. I'd prepared myself for this already."

"Wonder what has them so displeased." John glances at her, sarcasm evident in his voice, and she shoots him a death glare.

Only then, Billy finally decides to come back to the here and now.

"Miss Ashe..." He trails off, frowning to himself, and Eleanor interrupts her own inner conflicts at the mention of that name.

"What about her?"

"Just before they took her, she said a few words to me. Something along the lines of ' _I'm not ready_ '?"

She sighs heavily and steps closer to him, aware of John and Charles' eyes on them.

"Do you know what she meant by that?"

"Exactly what she said, in truth... In short, Lord Ashe has arranged a marriage. Her fiancee is old enough to be her grandfather and apparently, she wasn't too happy about it. That's all I really know."

Her patience is already hanging by a thread here, and each second Billy spends just looking at her face, his lips slightly parted, only brings her closer to a really bad rage fit.

"Something wrong?" She asks coldly, and he finally averts his eyes when she turns her back to him, walking around the table.

"I can't walk away from this."

With a scoff, she comes to a halt right beside Charles.

"You're not a knight in a shining barely even knew her, and young girls from all over the fucking world go through this stupid shit all the time. Get over it."

"I'm aware, but what happens is that I made that  _specific_  young girl a promise."

_Just what they needed_.

While rolling her eyes, she believes she hears Charles mutter the words " _loyal to a fault_ " under his breath.

"And all I know is I can't let that kid pay for mistakes she didn't commit. I  _promised_  her she'd be safe."

"Are you  _actually_  serious?" John inquiries with a raised eyebrow and she leans forward to rest her hands on the surface of the desk separating them, already summoning her boss voice.

"If you go, you're on your own. This is a rescue mission for Flint, not for the girl-"

"She has a name."

That one, she wasn't expecting. His words make her fall silent for a short second, then she raises her chin before proceeding with a more neutral tone

"Abigail will be safe. I assure you. She's home, and even if she's forced into-"

"I don't really care about the marriage part. But we do plan on bombing that damn town, in just a few short hours... And she's currently  _in_  that damn town. Don't have to be a genius to figure out what could happen to her."

_He does have a point_.

Still, her eyes harden as he crosses his arms, giving her a sarcastic half smirk.

"So what say  _you_ , your majesty?"

Just because she's in their environment now, they think they can mock her?

_Like fuck_.

"You know what? Be my guest. As I said, you're on your own and whatever happens, be aware that she is your problem, and  _your_  problem alone."

"Didn't ask for help in the first place."

John still has a baffled look on his face as Billy turns around, making his way to the door.

He's limping a bit, she realizes, because of when Abigail fired the gun earlier and the bullet grazed his leg.

Charles, who'd seemed actually amused by their conversation up to this point, suddenly becomes serious again.

"Hold up!" He calls out just as Billy is about to turn the doorknob. He looks at him over his shoulder.

"I can, and I  _will_  go unnoticed. Just need to get her out of harm's way; nothing I do will be any hindrance to your own plans."

Charles just narrows his eyes.

"You have my word."

His scowl softens just slightly, then he nods his head.

Billy leaves without another word, and John lingers for a moment, still confused as heck, before finally following him and closing the door.

The air around them shifts as soon as they're left alone, and they both look at each other's faces at the same time.

_They both probably regret it too._

He'd been shirtless when the battle began, when they learned about Flint's misfortune, since it all happened just as they were practically ready for bed.

His chest is still exposed to her eyes, and she herself is only wearing her blouse and ruined skirt, the belt and jacket left hanging in one of the chairs. This disheveled state of her clothing would have normally bothered her deeply. Especially considering the fact that she'd been out on the deck of a pirate ship just a while ago, two different crews eyeing her up and down.

But she has bigger concerns than her appearance right now.

"Now..." He says, walking over to the undamaged door and locking it before facing her again.

"Give me  _one_  good reason why I shouldn't drag you right back to that brig and leave you there for the remainder of this... endeavor."

Gripping the edge of the desk, she scoffs at him. " _Excuse_  me?"

"This crazy, unlikely situation we find ourselves in now... it doesn't erase what you did earlier."

"I already told you I had no idea-"

"And you really expect me to believe that?" He snaps, and she thinks about backing down for a moment, but damn it, she's absolutely fed up with playing this docile little role.

It doesn't matter if she's at his mercy. It doesn't matter if this is his territory.

She's fucking  _sick_  of this.

"You're right." She declares, still standing beside the desk and holding to the edge of it with one hand in order to keep her balance a little better. "I believe it is far from a secret, to both of us; the fact that I wanted him to win this war, all along. No matter the consequences you would face. You  _do_  know me. I might have tried to contribute to that end... I might have. Aware of it or not. To be completely honest with you, I'm not even sure what happened here tonight."

Letting go of the desk, she steps closer to him. He's just standing there in the dark, studying her in silence, and she can't decipher the look in his eyes.

"But it did. It did, and... this changes everything. I'm not sure we can keep going down this road. Our previous plans, his and mine, have been jeopardized at this point. He's their prisoner now, and that probably means he's switched sides on this war."

_Giving up on the obedient facade doesn't mean she needs to let go of manipulation._

"In a few hours... when you leave that square with him. It will be to a different world than when you entered it. You must know I will adapt to that world, just as I always did-"

"All of this, only to tell me that I can  _trust_  you?"

With a deep intake of air, she offers him a weak smile. They're a mere feet away from each other by now, and he's watching her face closely in the dark.

"Don't expect me to say you were right, because I fucking won't. But now I see that I cannot betray everything I am. He probably feels the exact same way, and I will not ask you to trust me, no... But know that I will stand by his side,  _your_  side, in this new war taking shape right before our very eyes... A war we must somehow face together, right?"

"You forget you're not dealing with your father here. You forget that most times, I can see right through you. Accepting this would be the same as accepting your defeat. That's intolerable in your eyes... Unless you have ulterior motives. Once you make a decision, It takes something very extreme for you to change your mind." He grabs her wrists when she tries to come closer, eyes burning with warning. "You don't believe your own words. You believe he'll still be willing to seek an alliance with civilization, one way or another, and you plan on joining him. Soon as you see the opportunity, you'll take it, no matter what."

_No matter what happens to me._

Her soft smile is long gone. Anger is bubbling just below the surface.

Staring into his eyes and keeping calm, she shrugs.

"If that's what ends up happening, you can always just throw me to your men and let them decide my fate among themselves, while you and Flint settle things your own way...  _Can't_ _you?_ "

His eyes narrow in the dark. His fingers tighten around her wrists for a moment, and her heart skips a beat.

Defeated, he lets her go and walks away, closer to the bunk, keeping his back to her all the while. Just as she'd expected.

Strangely, she doesn't feel the usual rush of triumph this time.

Remorse is already weighing heavily on her shoulders too, it shouldn't feel like this, and she tries her best to just ignore it.

A task made difficult when he sits on the mattress, running a hand through his loose hair before resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together, lowering his head with a heavy sigh.

Her eyes soften at the unusual sight, just a bit.

_He must be absolutely exhausted by now._

And if he's half asleep by the time the big event comes, in just a few hours, Flint's chances of escaping that place alive will be slim.  _At best._

_He should really get some sleep for now, but knowing him..._

Swallowing hard, Eleanor forces herself to move away from the door.

Her skirt is discarded as she makes her way to the bunk, and she sees his eyes traveling from the random spot on the floor to her legs. Briefly.

Knowing him, she's well aware there's only one way he'll relax right now.

Only one way to distract him from what's to come, to take his mind off it all. For just long enough. So that he can -  _hopefully_  - go to sleep.

And she needs to make sure everything will go well. For Flint's sake, her own sake.

Not for his, no.

_No._

He tries to move away when she straddles his lap, but as soon as their eyes meet, she just knows she's got him wrapped around her finger.

Surprisingly, when she opens her mouth, no sound comes out at first. The words catch in her throat, her usual manipulative scheme disrupted, and a wave of panic rises in her chest as she realized she had no idea how to proceed.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, waiting, and she clears her throat.

Her palm rests against chest. She forces a nervous smile.

"Will you lie down with me for a bit?"

A frown comes to his face; she mentally kicks herself for the choice of words.

"You do know that... No matter what, you should be in your best shape when the time comes. You didn't get any decent rest last night-"

Her words are cut short as he moves abruptly, practically shoving her off his lap to the mattress.

Her right side hits the wooden wall and she's just about to curse him out for that, but when he begins to remove his boots, then his pants, she bites her tongue.

In the faint candlelight, he finally brings his legs up into the bunk too, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling with a long, tired sigh.

She remains in the exact same position too, merely stealing a glance our two at him, out the corner of her eye. He isn't acknowledging her presence at all, and as irksome as that is, she knows his indifference is far from being her biggest concern.

Hesitantly, she turns her head to look at him better. His familiar profile is just as enticing as it's always been, but his eyes are what catch her attention.

He seems  _haunted_ , somewhat.

She notices it, even in the dim lit cabin, and her heart tightens a little.

Maybe he's doubting himself? Even if things work perfectly, maybe he's questioning himself about what's to come after?

What is Flint going to do, what is  _she_  going to do.

_Maybe he's having some trouble with the idea of being in **shackles**  again._

Swallowing hard, she moves onto her left side. Their bodies are forced even closer as result, and she bravely keeps her eyes on his face. Even as he refuses to even glance away from the ceiling.

_Say something_.

_Just roll over and go to sleep._

"I did mean what I said." He shows no reaction at all. She fights hard against the urge to roll her eyes. "I know my word holds no value to you, after... recent events. It's not good enough anymore. But I believe in your potential. I'm not sure which battles you're fighting right now, but no matter what, I know you're strong enough to overcome all of it. To get him out of there, to walk out of that square victorious."

"Course you do."

His tone is not acid, nor sarcastic, and she frowns softly at the words, even as he elaborates further.

"It's the end you desire. Of course you believe me now. When it suits you.  _Always_  when it suits you."

He's not looking, so she's able to roll her eyes real quick. Still, she shifts a little bit closer to him, satisfied that he didn't try to move away.

_He's definitely pissed_.

But at least he's talking now, and that's significant progress already.

She knows him. If she leaves him be right now, he'll just spend the next few hours ruminating on the latest events, his issues with the crew, his issues with  _her_.

She really needs to get all that weight off his mind, momentarily, just so he can get some sleep and be ready to put their plans into motion later.

"I understand you're..."

_Hurt_  is not the word.

And she cannot, for the life of her, find one that is appropriate enough. So she just gives up on that approach.

Her fingers find their way to his jawline. She pauses, testing the waters.

His eyes try to follow her hand as it trails a path down his neck to his collarbone. For a moment he lets out the project of a growl, barely audible even to her ears, and she thinks he'll stop her. But then he relaxes a little, only tensing up again when her fingertips travel across his chest to settle on that bumpy scar.

She suddenly feels the strangest urge to lean in and press a lingering kiss to it, but that would be crossing a line.

Resisting, she sighs softly, letting her fingers trail over the details of the scar instead.

Each little line, each delicate curve.

It feels good, in the weirdest way possible.

_She can't remember when was the last time she allowed herself to do this._

His eyes are immediately burning into hers, as she looks at his face again.

The exhaustion is there, as well as the vibrant hatred, the partially veiled desire, the barely hidden adoration. It all combines into such a familiar mix, and she feels the edges of her lips twitch up against her will.

She didn't lose him just yet.

_It shouldn't mean so much to her._

"Relax." It's a slow, soft request. Not an order or a demand at all.

That's probably the reason why he actually obeys.

When her lips touch his, he exhales softly through his nose. It almost makes her smile.

There are goosebumps all over her arms as his fingers close around some hair on the back of her head, tightly. But the reaction has more to do with the trill of realizing she still had this sort of control over him, rather than the feeling itself.

And when he shows the first signs of wanting to take control, she takes care of making him understand this isn't in her plans tonight.

He needs to save his energy for what's to come.

So she breaks their kiss, splaying both hands over his chest to keep him still. His eyes follow her every move closely as she moves to sit on her knees. One of her hands begins to trail a path down his abdomen, only her ring finger touching his skin. She's applying just enough pressure for her fingernail to leave a faint line that will soon disappear.

She's not at all surprised to find him half hard under the blanket already, and when her mouth replaces her hand, his breathy gasp sends a wave of heat right to her core.

His fingers grasp at her hair again. She thinks he'll pull her away, but soon understands he's actually trying to make sure she'll stay right there, sometimes guiding her movements too.

She can't help but exhale in relief through her nose.

_It worked._

* * *

"You do know this is probably the most stupid thing you have ever done... Don't you?"

Despite the pain on his leg and the nervous coil in his gut, tightening with each passing minute, Billy can't help but chuckle.

"If you truly believe that, then you don't know me at all. Much less my story."

"Care to share some of it?"

His silence answers the question for him, and John shrugs as he works on bandaging the wound on his leg as best as he can.

It's not like he has much time to lose before sunrise is here.

"What are you going to do?"

"Remove her from that place... Before shit goes down."

"You know I'll need something a little more solid than that."

Pausing and looking over at the other man, he sighs.

"I'll just swim. In the dark of the night, I can make it to the beach without the patrol boats detecting my presence. They're focused on the ships, after all. Should be easy." He nods towards the beach, trying his best the make out the shapes of the mansion looming at a short distance from the other buildings. It's a tough task, even as the full moon illuminates the rest of the city just fine.

But still, he can see what interests him.

"See? The beach and the streets are mostly empty at this hour. Vegetation is lush around the mansion, the city itself, that will offer me the perfect cover I need."

John scoffs at that. "I can read your mind right now, did you know that?"

For the 100th time since they left that cabin, he frowns to himself. His fingers stop working on the bandages momentarily, and one again, he asks himself one short, simple question.

"And it's currently screaming the words... ' _what the fuck am I doing_ '?"

Nodding to himself, he finally ties the bandages snugly around his lower leg. It should be more than enough to keep the saltwater away from his wound.

"Quite accurate."

"Breaking into the mansion while everyone's asleep and stealing the girl away, then?"

With a shake of his head, he makes his way closer to the rail.

"I don't want to alert her father. If she's gone in the morning, while you're still in the bay, he'll know what happened. Vane's plans would be ruined. No, I'll wait. Until the trial is in progress, so Ashe will be away. Busy. Just like most of the people in that town. This distraction of theirs... It will work perfectly in my favor."

"And how can you know she'll cooperate, instead of raising alarm and having you arrested too?"

His eyes are trained on the mansion as he scowls softly.

"You did  _not_  see the look in her eyes. When she turned around and begged me not to let go. Trust me, if I offer her a way out of there, an  _opportunity_ , she'll be happy to grasp it with both hands."

John just watched him in silence, until he looks away from the town with a heavy sigh.

"Something more solid, you said? Once I collect her, I plan on putting as much distance as I can between ourselves and that place. Realistically, we can't make it back to the ship in the light of day without being seen. Too large a risk. Staying around there while they destroy the town's not an option either. So we wait it out. After the chaos dies down, I'll ask her what she wants. If she wants to go back, I'll let her. But if she wants nothing to do with that world anymore, well..."

Making a face at the possibility and realizing, once again, that he might have a huge problem in his hands soon, he nods in the direction of the coast.

"I plan on traveling southwest. If we can make it to St. Augustine, I believe I can easily find us safe passage back home."

"So we shouldn't wait for you, huh?"

With a serious look on his face, he meets John's eyes.

"Please make sure Flint understands I am not a deserter by any means."

To his surprise, the man just offers him a reassuring smile instead of a witty remark.

"I overheard some of his conversations with Miss Barlow, about that girl. Trust me, I don't think you have to worry about that. Once he learns you went all this trouble to keep her away from danger... I think it's safe to state he'll actually appreciate your effort."

It's a huge relief, and even though he's not entirely sure he can trust those words, he allows himself to push this particular concern to the back of his mind for now.

A mere two seconds later, however, John smirks at him.

"So... Traveling with a teenager for days. Having to provide for both of you during that time, and dealing with a mini Eleanor Guthrie in the making, who tends to steal your gun to get things her way... Sometimes shooting you in the leg, let's not forget that detail either." He grimaces at the bandages before looking up at Billy's face again. His arms cross over his chest.

"How, exactly, do you plan on doing that?"

There's silence for a few moments as Billy actually thinks about the words. They do nothing to ease his anxiety, quite the contrary, so in the end, he just offers John a tight smile.

Shortly after, he's climbing down a ladder and eventually just jumping into the dark waters below, not wanting to waste too much of his precious time.

Hearing the faint splash, John grimaces to himself again.

" _Jesus_. They're all going mad around here, aren't they?"

His eyes find the city, he can barely make out the square all the way from here, and for some strange reason, his chest tightens.

It strangely feels like worry. Concern for the man whose trial will take place in there, in just a few short hours.

Whatever the weird feelings are, he much prefers not to dwindle in them.

Heaving a sigh and forcing himself to turn around, he soon catches sight of a lonely figure sitting on a barrel and watching him in silence.

The furry ball on his lap sleeps soundly, and as usual, Randall is staring at him as if he's aware of all the sins he's ever committed.

"What about you, any helpful input whatsoever?" He inquiries, forcing a smirk, and for a moment he actually thinks the older man will answer properly.

But a fart is all he gets as response, the cat stretching lazily in its master's lap.

And despite his ill at ease mind, he can't help but chuckle quietly at that.

* * *

_**Nassau,** _

_**Now** _

"He's gone?"

"Started spreading on the streets a few hours ago. Word is Hornigold arrested him, handed him over to the Navy. But his first target was actually... Well,  _her_."

Trying to ignore the chill that goes down her spine, Max looks over her shoulder just in time to see Idelle scoffing quietly.

"It seems Vane saved her life  _again_ , in the end. Had she been here last night... She'd be the one on her way to a trial right now... And you and I both know they'd show her no mercy. Not after everything she did around here."

They've talked about it before. Unlike the rest of the population, they know she's alive. They're well aware of what she tried to do, how she tried to cross one of the most feared captains around, but unlike the others, they're also aware of how said captain's mind works.

If he'd meant to kill her for her betrayal, they would have found her body in that fort already.

"So you're telling me that for the first time in forever... There are no Guthries in Nassau. How did they react to that?"

"Depends which  _'they'_  we're talking about. The beach is still drinking in celebration. Just as they've been doing since the moment we learned Vane took her away.  _'Queen is dead'_ , so on and so forth. Now, with the last remaining shadow of her gone as well, they're ecstatic... Profit should increase significantly around here the next few days."

Now staring out the window again, and hearing the sounds of said celebrations,Max can't help but roll her eyes.

If Vane actually manages to make it back home, these people will be in for a very unpleasant surprise.

The "dead" Queen, coming right back to haunt them, strolling through this beach again and shutting down any celebrations, right before all the incredulous eyes.

Her own eyes widen for a second.

When Eleanor learns about what happened to her father...

_Shit._

"And the merchants?"

"You know how they get. A little unrest among the crews and they sleep with one eye open for a week."

"I think this is more than  _a little unrest_ , wouldn't you say?"

Walking away from the window, past her friend, and coming to a stop beside the table on the center of the room, Max rests her hand over the familiar, worn wood.

"Yes, I'd say so."

Half her brain is focused on the conversation at hand, the other half already thinking up all the possible twists and turns the near future might bring.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm wondering what is going to happen if the Fancy returns. If they manage to survive their close encounter with civilization, if Flint cannot intercept and sink them. If  _she_  comes back. I have known some of the depths of her mind, but right now I cannot even try to foretell what she will be up to. Who she will take as an ally... Who she will see as the enemy."

Facing Idelle again, she shakes her head. There's a knot forming in her chest.

"Her mother was taken from her, and now Richard is gone as well. He will be killed by the very same world she had been trying to become a part of. Will she hate that world now, with the same ferocity with which she hates the ones responsible for her mother's death?"

"You don't even have to be familiar with the way her mind works to know the answer to that question."

"Indeed. It's what comes after that has me so clueless."

Now staring at a random spot on the wall, Max sits down. Swallowing hard, she tries to calm her racing mind.

"The letter that was read aloud at the beach, the morning after Vane's departure. The letter in which he made his intentions clear. His intentions for the future of this place. We both know that if Eleanor wants to put up a fight against civilization, the best ally she can have... is  _him_. How will she react to that? Will she just accept that turn of events, after having spent such a long time pushing him away?"

"Are we truly discussing their relationship, while there are more important matters-"

"We're discussing  _our future_  here. The two of them are strong together. But so is Flint. A giant born from that union, against another one just as powerful. And we will all be caught in the crossfire. Especially considering the prize that will soon be in our possession."

Now pale as a ghost, Idelle turns around to look out the window at the ocean. As if searching for any signs of the two giants in the horizon.

"What do we do?"

"Jack and Anne will take his side. Especially because deep down, they still see him as their captain. And you know the amount they're bringing will be able to reinforce piracy here for possibly decades to come." Getting to her feet and walking over to her apprehensive friend, she nods at the sea, trying to keep the cool and collected facade up. "Meanwhile, let's pray that when a ship appears out there in the horizon, it will be the Fancy instead of Flint. And if our prayers are answered, we make sure to get in their good graces. Vane's and hers. That assuming she will be taking him as an ally, which I actually believe she will, in the end. She may be stubborn, but she is not stupid. Eventually, she will understand she cannot do this alone."

Averting her eyes to the building across the street, she frowns to herself.

"The tavern, what will become of it? Do you think it will be properly taken care of until she's here again?"

"I-I'm not sure, I... I did hear gossip that Frasier is eagerly looking to get rid of it, and move away from this chaos."

They can't count on luck.

"So there's the chance her beloved business won't be waiting for her when she returns."

**_If_**   _she returns_.

Heart drumming in her chest, she makes the decision.

"How much coin do we have on reserve?"

"Reserve?"

"How much money can I have on hand if I needed it? The kitchen's funds, today's receipts, the girls' stashes that we know about?"

Idelle finally looks away from the sea, confusion written all over her face.

"How would I know that?"

Eyes glued to the tavern, Max raises her chin at the sight of well dressed men entering it.

_...if our prayers are answered, we make sure to get in their good graces. Vane's and **hers.**_

"Find out for me, please. And have it made ready for me immediately."

"To buy what?"

Despite her nervousness, she pats her friend's arm reassuringly, a soft smile on her face.

It disappears completely, just as she turns around and walks away.

* * *

**_Colonial Dawn_ **

It feels strange.

Sailing again, with  _her_ , under a different banner and such different circumstances.

_Their past feels like another life._

She doesn't glance his way when he reaches her, red hair blowing in the wind, and he's about to speak when her own voice prevents him from doing so.

"What's the story? What did he do this time?"

He did promise to brief her about everything she'd missed.

Clearing his throat, Jack takes a step closer in order to rest his hands on the rail.

"It wasn't entirely  _his_  doing; what happened. The two of them were in disagreement about the future of the island. She wanted to side with Flint and her father, to bring civilization back. He was opposed, of course... You know him. It turns out he held in his possession the key that would make an alliance with those people possible. And he didn't want to hand it over, so she tried to take it by force. Apparently, she failed."

"That one doesn't fail. Not when it's him she's fighting against. You know he's  _weak_ , when it comes to her. Always was."

"Well, this time, it seems he finally wasn't." Smirking to himself, he meets her eyes just as Anne looks away from the horizon. "I am  _proud_  of him, you know?"

The corners of her mouth twitch up in a quick smirk, then she's staring off into the distance again.

Despite her silence, he knows she wants more details.

"They wanted to keep things quiet at first, but after what happened, word was everywhere on those streets. Richard couldn't keep his mouth shut, I suppose. The key element to Flint's plans? A young lady, daughter of the Governor of the Carolina Colony. From what I heard, our friend refused to cooperate, and his little honeypot promised Flint she would deliver the girl to him anyway. From there, she probably took advantage of Charles'...  _weakness_ , as you said, to get inside that fort and closer to that poor girl. But something must have gone very wrong for her, because when dawn broke, the Fancy was gone from the bay. And they were all gone from the fort. Him, her, the men and the child. Flint set sail shortly after, intent on catching them. For now, that is all everyone knows."

There's silence as she lets all that new information sink in, her eyebrows furrowed together. Then she heaves a sigh, lowering her eyes to her hands and the rail.

"I'd be hoping for her demise, if I didn't know any better. She's probably turned the tables by now. Could represent a huge problem for us down the road."

"Your tremendous faith in our former captain is very touching."

Hearing the sarcasm in his tone, she smirks to herself.

"Not long ago, he said we'd be the death of each other. But you know we can throw those same words right back at him and his stupid wench."

She practically spits those two last words out as if they're poison on her tongue, and he raises an eyebrow.

That old curiosity sparks again in his chest. Before he knows it, he's speaking.

_Carefully as he possibly can._

"Eleanor Guthrie has countless flaws. That isn't a secret to anyone. I know she brought us many troubles, recently, and that is putting it mildly... So I understand your... fierce dislike of her. I myself am not exactly fond of that woman either. But the beginnings... When she was younger and Chas would bring her to camp, or those occasions when the four of us would find a quiet table late at night and drink ourselves silly. I must admit that I truly enjoyed her company. Our conversations were quite pleasant...  _refreshing_. She has an impeccable taste for literature." He says, nodding softly as if to emphasize his point. Anne is staring at him weird by now, but it's not enough to intimidate him. "You, however, were always tense as a bowstring. Sometimes I actually worried you would jump at her throat and strangle her to death. Thing is; back then, she had never even caused you any problems. And yet, you acted... as if her very  _existence_  offended you, deeply. Why is that?"

He'd been expecting her to react violently, or to shut him out at least.

So it's confusing when she simply breaks eye contact, almost as if she's tired, and he notices the nervous fumble of her fingers with the leather of her coat.

"It was always so much easier... and  _safer_... to just hate her guts."

He wasn't actually expecting an answer, either.

"Easier? Why?"

"'Cause I didn't want to fuckin'  _admire_  her instead."

There's an aggressive edge to her tone now, and even though he's dying to hear more, his interest definitely piqued by the entirely unexpected words, he just waits in silence.

Thankfully, she eventually decides to share more.

"I didn't give a shit at first. I knew of her existence but to me, she was just another one of the snob, spoiled, wealthy girls. Nothing new 'bout that one, so I thought I'd just ignore her. Even while Chas got closer to her. But I realized I was wrong that night, when she strolled into our territory as if she owned that fucking camp, fearless, and she went into his tent just like that, to take her fate into her own hands."

He knows it's not wise to interrupt her, but that last sentence makes him frown. "And what's  _that_  supposed to mean?"

For a quick second, Anne looks at him as if he's the dumbest, must clueless bastard in the world.

"You didn't hear? 'Bout how her father was rounding up every possible suitor in Port Royal, soon as she turned fifteen? He'd been meaning to get rid of her, and she fought back by ruining all of his plans. She found a way out. Don't you remember how quickly word spread back then? That her virtue was ruined, that she gave it to one of the pirate captains, willingly?"

His jaw is hanging open by now. It actually takes him a few moments to find his voice again.

"So  _that's_  what it was about?" Is all he manages, and she can't help but chuckle dryly.

"One of the reasons why her father left in the first place. He had nothin' else to do in there. And that was when I realized I'd been wrong 'bout her. She was no spoiled brat... By doing what she did, she showed everyone in that place that she owned herself and she'd belong to no man. She'd submit to no man. And that's all I wish I could have done... Back then."

There's a pang in his heart and he inwardly clenches his jaw.

It's not often that she mentions her past, but whenever she does, it has the same unpleasant effect on him.

"Mock me all ya want, but in that moment, I admired her. Still don't know what that feeling was, maybe you could say I wanted to be her..." She grimaces, struggling as if it was a foreign word she'd never said before. "...friend. Or somethin' like that. But she didn't let that last, cause first opportunity she got, she showed me how fuckin' stupid I was for even feeling that way. When she looked at me and she crinkled that regal little nose in disgust, and it reminded me of all the reasons why I fuckin'  _despise_  the likes of her."

The last few words are spoken through gritted teeth, and even though she tries to calm her anger, it doesn't quite work. And he understands why, as she continues to speak.

"Then when she decided to toss Chas aside as if he was garbage, and rumors started flying around town that she was visiting the bed of a woman, it... really messed with my head. I was fucking angry at her. Not like I hated her for breaking his heart, I just felt this denial... cause I didn't understand what was going on. Now I do. Again, she was doing what I wished I could. Even though I wasn't aware of that yet. And this is why I hate that piece of shit. Because it was always so much better to focus on that, than to look up to her."

He's not sure how his jaw hasn't dropped again yet.

"Because she's dangerous and treacherous, and I'm scared that if I'm even a bit careless around her, she _just might_  win me over. We have a clear example of how things can be if you let her get too close. How much destruction she causes inside you."

_Anything_.

He was expecting anything but  _this_.

"Hell, we have  _two_  examples... Best we can do is learn from their mistakes."

She's done now, he knows. And even though her eyes are firmly glued to the horizon, he still nods softly in agreement.

"Does Max know about this? About this chaos in your head, when it comes to miss Guthrie?"

It was just stronger than him.

"What difference does it make?"

He just had to know.

Her shoulders are stiff now and he mentally kicks himself, knowing he wouldn't get an answer anyway.

Then she decides to surprise him again.

"No. She doesn't. Never told anyone... until now."

He has no control, whatsoever, over the stupid smile that creeps onto his face.

The silence stretching between them is now nothing but pleasing and peaceful, the familiar rocking of the ship beneath their feet flooding them both with nostalgia for a time when things were considerably simpler.

That smile hasn't vanished from his face yet, as a single word escapes his lips.

"But."

"What?"

"Last night you said you'd thought about not returning,  _but_...?"

She stalls, searching her brain for the best words to say.

It doesn't take her too long.

"Standing there on the jetty in Port Royal I realized that was the first time you and I had been separated by that much water since we was fucking kids."

"Huh."

"Being that far away, you see things differently. Helped me see what we are. Maybe what we ain't... You saved me from something awful, Jack. And I owe you my life for it. Maybe there's some part of that you just can't owe."

"But you can owe it to Max?"

Again, he just couldn't help himself.

"I don't feel that way with her."

_It actually hurts to a physical level._

"I was at every tavern in that town trying to find us spies, build out this thing we started. And every time I said my name, they knew my name. The first thing they said every time was your name. Like we was two halves of the same thing."

She meets his eyes again. There's this resolute look on her face, as if she's completely at peace with herself, at last.

"I can't be your wife, Jack."

Somehow, it feels both strange and natural, at the same time, to hear those words from her mouth.

Neither of the feelings erase the pain, though.

"But you and I are gonna be partners till they put us in the fucking ground... As long as you feel the same."

He's not sure whether she's just made it better, or worse.

With a heavy sigh, he brings an arm around her shoulders.

_Nostalgia_.

As they stand there, looking at the horizon together, Charles' words suddenly make more sense to him than ever.

* * *

**_Fancy_ **

"What does it matter whether they hang him or not? We came here to receive the ransom money. We've done so. Ought that not to be the end of the conversation?"

It's a good thing she has her back to that stupid piece of filth. If she looks at his face, she'll snap, and her fist will connect with his jaw in a heartbeat.

So she patiently holds back, leaning her weight against the edge of the table and focusing on Charles instead. He'd been staring out one of the windows for a while now, and she sees him shaking his head briefly while finally turning around.

"We can say what we will about Flint, and I've said my share. But the world knows his name, they know him. And his body swinging over the harbor of this place sends a powerful message." He's walked up to the table now, she faintly realizes she's occupying the spot right next to his chair. Her attention is more focused on his eyes, filled with warning and danger. "No one surrenders to a dying thing. And that's exactly what we'll be if we don't act."

She does think about moving away when he sits down on the chair, his arm nearly touching her leg, but maybe it's in her best interest to stay as close to him as possible while Jenks is around. So she just forces herself to relax, raising her chin slightly.

"Where are the men about it?"

She's immediately in full alert mode, waiting eagerly for the words even as her eyes stay fixed on one of the windows.

"Well, those who think saving Flint's a good idea, you're taking ashore with you."

_Just as they thought_.

"It wouldn't make much sense to take the ones who think it's a bad idea."

His voice is rough, more than it normally is, and she steals a quick glance down at him.

Judging by the look on his face, he's feeling just as inclined to punch that idiot senseless.

It's a satisfying sight to see.

"No, you're leaving them with me. And what exactly do you expect me to say to them, do you think, when they ask me why we don't just turn around, leave you here and enjoy all the spoils we have in this ship, rather than attempt to fight a fight we are far from certain to win?"

She could literally  _feel_  that pig's eyes on her as he spoke about the spoils, so she knows he wasn't just talking about the money.

Charles' own eyes narrow and he straightens up in his seat menacingly, which means he's noticed it too.

"Tell them that this endeavor is in their best interests. Whether they can see that or not."

He looms beside her while saying the words through gritted teeth, barely reining in his anger. She's surprised when he places his right arm in front of her body, his hands resting on the surface of the table.

Her heart actually skips a beat.

"And then when they're through having their laugh, then what do you expect me to say?"

He scoffs. Her own patience is now barely hanging by a very fragile thread.

"Tell them that if this ship tries to run on a skeleton crew, they're going to get chased, they're going to get caught, and they're going to get  _killed_. See if that convinces them."

His tone was final, he was clearly stressed and impatient as fuck, so when he nods in the direction of the good door, Jenks doesn't dare to say another word.

She finds it strange; the way his eyes linger on the third door in the cabin, a small one located among the windows. It leads out into a simple balcony on the stern, a luxury reserved for the captain only, although she never saw Charles show any interest in it during their journey.

This distraction of his is quick, so she doesn't think much of it. With one last nasty look directed at her, he hastily turns around and walks away.

As soon as she hears the door opening and closing, a groan leaves her lips.

"I much preferred Jack."

She's not even sure where it came from, but apparently it was a good thing to say. Some of the tension is broken and he relaxes considerably.

"That makes it two of us."

Stepping away from her and the table, he heads towards the cabinet. She watches in partially veiled interest as he retrieves his flintlock pistol.

And loads it.

An uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.

"You remember how to use this one?"

Trying not to let her nervousness show, she nods, eyes glued to the weapon as he walked closer.

"I think so."

He did try to teach her, a long time ago. She never got along too well with that thing.

"Keep it close to you, but not  _on_  you; it's loaded. Only grab it if you sense danger, and be careful where you aim."

He places the gun on the table before reaching for his dagger and offering it to her. It has the sheath on, and she feels strange while accepting it from him.

It's one of his most prized possessions, and she knows it.

"And this?"

Swallowing hard, she secures it between her belt and her clothing, also effectively hiding it from view with her coat. An imitation of what she'd seen Anne do countless times in the past.

He seems to approve of it, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips briefly.

When he gestures at his cutlass, resting near them on the surface of the table too, she hesitates before reaching for it.

There's a grimace on her face as she tries to lift it, in vain. It's quite heavy, and she needs to use both hands.

"Hm. Not really."

It's outrageous; how he simply takes it from her and locks it away in the cabinet, as if it weighs nothing.

She chooses to ignore that, and her arms are crossed over her chest as he comes to stand in front of her again.

Then he heaves a sigh, and she watches as he unwraps the string from around his wrist. The six little keys hanging from it jingle in the air, and she carefully accepts them in her palm.

Something about the moment feels weirdly intimate.

"Do  _not_  leave here. Not until I return. Can you promise me that?"

All she wants is to look away. But there's an unfamiliar look in his eyes, different from anything she's ever seen before, and she's just dying to decipher it.

"It's in my best interest."

"That it is."

He's just close enough, and before she can stop herself, her free hand is touching his chest. Right where the scar is located, and she could swear she was able to hear the rumble of his walls coming down for a moment there.

But truth is, her gesture feels too serious, too deep, so she soon finds a way to take the focus away from it.

"Better not let me down. Or I'll hang you myself."

Her tone may be playful, but they can both hear the edge of urgency to it.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Wouldn't put it past you."

"Then you're smarter than I gave you credit for."

He actually chuckles at that, and she's not sure who moves first.

She's not sure when was the last time they shared such a chaste kiss either.

Barely a brush of their lips and she's pulling away, only slightly.

_Motivation_.

It's all he needs to fuel his strength. For what's to come.

Right hand grabbing a firm hold of the hair on the back of her head - reminding her about last night - he takes what he wants. Or rather, all he can get for now.

There's absolutely nothing chaste about it this time.

That all to familiar fire consumes them for a short moment in time, all their troubles simply ceasing to exist.

His right hand is still keeping her head in place, left arm around her waist, pressing her flush against him as her fingers found the nape of his neck, tangling themselves in his hair.

It's just as intoxicating as it has always been, she can feel her heart drumming madly in her chest as that clever tongue slides against hers, teasingly. And just as suddenly as it was created, the spell is broken.

_"Trial is underway!"_

John's shout from outside makes them pull away immediately, like a bucket of cold water, and they barely look at each other for one second before he's turning around and heading to the good door.

_Now's a good time as any._

"Charles?"

He stops, looking over his shoulder, hand already on the doorknob.

"What's the  _real_  reason you didn't try to subdue his crew?"

He's looking at her the exact same way as when she went seeking his help with Low. It only makes her suspicions even stronger.

Hell, if she's honest with herself, at this point, she's absolutely certain. Doesn't matter if she hears it from his mouth or not.

Sometimes, the words they leave unspoken ring louder in their ears than the ones they scream at each other's faces.

_And this is one of these times._

"Lock the door."

With that, he leaves her alone.

She's happy to obey as soon as he leaves, for once, feeling just a bit safer when the key turns into the lock. Once that's taken care of, she exhales long and deep.

Unable to help herself, Eleanor brings her fingers up to her lips.

It must be his favorite hobby; to leave her conflicted as hell.

* * *

The fire has been stoked.

His energy is refueled, and he's now a thousand times more motivated than he was before, even as his brain keeps reminding him that her behavior is nothing but an act.

_He'll deal with that later._

After looking each of his men in the eyes, the ones who would stay behind, he heads towards the gangway.

Thankfully, Scott meets him before he even has to step foot on the other ship.

"How much authority do you hold over them?"

His words are hushed, his voice barely above a whisper, and he looks over his shoulder to make sure none of the possible mutineers have followed him.

"Plenty."

" _How much_?"

Scott frowns at that. Charles sighs while moving closer and lowering his voice even further.

"I want you to keep watch over my men, the ones who'll wait here, and I need to know if you have the power to prompt this crew to act... Should you see something suspicious. So I'm asking you one more time... How much authority do you hold over them?"

There's a somber look in the older man's eyes as he finally understands.

"Enough."

It's the exact same answer he'd been hoping for.

"Then let them know, as soon as I leave, that they have permission to kill. There'll be no retaliation whatsoever."

Scott glances at the men in question, roaming on the decks of the Fancy, before meeting his eyes again. That confused frown is back now.

"These are your men-"

"And there's something they want. Something they've been wanting since we left that island."

A dark cloud passes over his eyes.

He got the meaning.

"What I'm asking of you, is that if the worst happens to me today, if things take a foul turn in there... And if they try something around here..."

He hesitates for a moment, trying to search his brain for the best words to say. But there's no way to keep the cold and uncaring facade up, not with he's about to request, and deep down, he knows it.

Swallowing his pride momentarily, he heaves a sigh.

"...you'll see her safe."

At first, Scott just stares at him blankly. Then Charles notices the smile tugging at the edges of his lips, and he's sure this is the first time this man ever directs such a look at him.

There's not the faintest trace of that once so vibrant disapproval, the distaste which was always present in his eyes, whenever he'd look at his little girl and see her with the  _damn butcher_ , as he'd so fondly decided to call him, from the very start.

Right now, as strange as it is to both of them, it actually looks like Scott approves of him.

For the first time ever.

The nod of his head is barely noticeable, and Charles nods back before turning around and walking away.

He wasn't expecting that.

It actually warms his heart.

Although he'll never admit it out loud.

* * *

The wound has been getting worse, he's certain of it.

It's been hurting like a bitch since the moment he jumped into the ocean, and once more, Billy needs to sit down for a bit.

Exhaling deeply, and making sure he was still well hidden, he keeps his eyes trained on the stables and the coach.

It'll be easier than he thought.

He's just heard a conversation between two of the stable boys, about what Ashe planned for his daughter, and now all he needs to do is act in time.

His eyes narrow when the coachman appears, and soon after, there she is.

Adrenaline is already rushing through his veins, he waits until she's inside the coach, before finally leaving his hiding spot behind the trees.

His leg is protesting fiercely, but he pays it no mind at all.

No one's around.

Just as the coachman is about to get on his seat, he grabs him from behind. His hand covers his mouth, but the poor bastard wouldn't have had the time to scream anyway.

With the slightest pang of regret in his heart, Billy lets the coachman fall to the ground.

Blood is pouring out of his slit throat even as his head lolls to the side, lifeless eyes still wide and and staring off into emptiness.

Swallowing hard and putting his dagger away, he climbs onto the driver's seat himself.

A soft cough from inside the coach reassures him that she's really in there, safe, and he glances at the dead body one last time before finally picking up the reins.

The two horses perk up with the small movement, waiting, in alert.

A quiet "ha" and a soft slap of the reins is all it takes, and the horses are trotting in perfect sync with one another.

His heart drums madly as they make their way through the streets, beads of sweat covering his forehead.

If someone finds the dead body, they'll come after him. It's all up to luck right now.

His nervousness grows when they approach the square, and the faint cries of the crowd send a shudder down his spine. He prompts the horses to move faster, and thankfully, they're soon leaving the town.

Relaxing considerably, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Never looking over his shoulder, he concentrates on the empty road before them. The pain on his leg is stronger now that the adrenaline is subsiding, but still, he can't help but smile briefly.

He did it. And he's at peace with himself.

But now's time to get away from the soon to be doomed city, and that's exactly what he's going to do.

* * *

**_Nassau_ **

"For people like us, power in this place is most effective when it is least perceived"

The envelope drops from her hand, landing swiftly on the surface of the desk, and Frasier's tired eyes follow its movement.

"That is my offer to purchase your inherited interest in this tavern. It is more generous than any of the others received by your colleagues. I will expect your answer by nightfall."

Her fingers are already closing around the doorknob when his voice stops her in her tracks.

"Why is this so important to you? Why offer more for this place than all the others?"

Taking a look around the office, she feels her chest tighten.

It's not half as familiar as it once was anymore.

Amazing what just a few days, barely a week, without  _her_  can bring. The changes, the disturbance to the very essence of things around here.

It's not just the changes Richard did to the furniture and how it is arranged.

It's far more than that.

_Not for long_.

With a tight smile, she leaves the darkened office.

* * *

**_Fancy_ **

"...once we secure the captain's chambers. It's what needs to be done first. The keys. I didn't see them hanging from his wrist or neck when he left, sure they're in her possession now. We have got to subdue her, or she might realize something's wrong and alert Flint's crew."

The 11 men gathered around him glance at the other ship. One of them crosses his arms over his chest with a questioning look in his eyes.

"Why would they help her?"

Jenks looks over at the dark skinned man watching them like a hawk from the other ship. He's unable to stop himself from scoffing in disdain.

"I gathered some information. First thing I did when we got to that island. See that man he was talking to, shortly before he left? He's Guthrie's former guardian, raised her as his own. Which means he probably cares about her. Enough to be willing to keep her out of harm's way. And he just happens to hold a certain amount of authority over Flint's men... Don't you think it's strange the captain didn't try to put that crew under any sort of restraint?"

The men share a look among themselves. Satisfied to see they're taking him seriously, Jenks nods in the direction of the door to the captain's quarters, as discreetly as possible.

"That girl in there has got him wrapped around her finger. I knew it since the moment he walked through that very same door, holding that severed head. I knew it, when he defended her at the fort. When he kept her alive even after what she tried to do to him. To  _us_. It's always about her.  _Her_  safety,  _her_  interests. We should have known better... No matter what happens in that square, I will not sail under a cunt rolled, weak captain, who puts a woman above his men. If we don't turn the tables now, it might cost us our lives."

Some of them share quiet whispers between themselves, others reflect silently upon his words.

And others keep their eyes on his face, nodding repeatedly in agreement.

Encouraged, he gestures at the other ship.

"Earlier, one of theirs approached Yardley. Said he had a plan to get us out of here. There is one man in that vessel who can grant us the means to do so. I say we follow this path, I say we turn this ship around and leave this bullshit behind us. Off to one hell of a start, a good ship, good money, good men."

The men look around, probably noticing Yardley's absence, and he smirks to himself.

By now, only two or three seem to be hesitating. He's successfully dragged the rest to his side, but he needs  _all_  of them.

And he knows exactly what's the last little push they need.

"And a pair of creamy white tits that should be enough to keep us distracted from any of those brothels out there, for a long, long time. At least while we work on distancing ourselves from this place."

All 11 men perk up immediately, and just like that, he knows he has their full cooperation.

_At least the little cunt has her uses._

"When does it begin?" One of them asks, his tone eager, and Jenks looks over his shoulder at the door to the captain's quarters.

"It already did."

* * *

Today, she didn't even bother with the book.

The knot in her throat is what has her full attention, and even before he left, she already knew she'd be in this state until news arrived.

News of their success, news of their demise.

Anything would be better than this inertia, this sickening uncertainty.

She's now given up on counting the minutes in her head, but it's been a long time since he walked out through that door.

Those loud sounds should be cutting through the silence already, she's sure of it. Something must have gone wrong, they should be hearing the cannons by now, shouldn't they?

_How long can a damn trial last, for fuck's sake?_

Any noise is enough to make her imagine things, so she tries not to pay too much mind to the faint, strange splash that comes from outside. It's as if there was something disturbing the waters below the captain's balcony, but she assumes it must have been a particularly big wave or a sea creature, and that doesn't deserve her attention at the moment.

Heaving a sigh, she tries to run her fingers through her hair, only to get them stuck in the various knots that have formed over the past six days without a brush. It only angers her even further, frustration getting a hold of her as she furiously yanks her hand away, pulling a few unlucky strands out from her scalp in the process.

The annoying pain lingers and she eyes the good door, then the keys resting near her arm on the surface of the table.

Once again, she feels the temptation to unlock that door and walk out into that deck, grab a spyglass and try to see what's going on in that town. What's taking them so fucking long.

But once again, she reminds herself that this is not her domain. She could be getting too paranoid, but these men outside might be plotting against her right now for all she knows, so it's best if she sticks to safety.

Even if all this anxiety is killing her.

Her eyes drop to the gun, resting on the table just within her reach, as Charles instructed.

If any of those bastards try to barge in, be it by the locked or the barricaded door, the noise will alert her and give her the time she needs to prepare herself.

There's a whole plan in her head already. Surely she'd be unable to take all of them down, but she could shoot two or three. The noise would alert Scott, and then she could step out into the balcony and jump. She'd swim around the ship and seek shelter with him.

It's crazy, but it's all she could come up with. Probably her best chance, should that happen.

Things have been quiet out there. Maybe she has nothing to worry about, no mutiny.

Still, she should probably get familiar with the balcony.

Charles said he was unable to find any keys to that door, so it's probably unlocked-

It suddenly crashes over her.

The way Jenks looked at the door earlier, the chill that went down her spine.

_The balcony_.

Her blood runs cold and she grabs the gun, turning around in her seat

Only to establish eye contact with the filthy, stealthy creature making his way inside the cabin, the balcony door wide open.

She didn't even hear-

Her heart leaps to her throat and she's immediately aiming the gun at him. But he's faster, her second of shock gave him the advantage he needed.

Just before she can pull the trigger, he's practically throwing himself at her. They both end up on the floor, her elbow hits the wood planks hard and she would have hissed in pain if it wasn't for the hand covering her mouth. Her eyes find the gun, it's landed a few feet away from them and she tries to fight against his hold, to reach for the weapon, but it's all in vain.

Something hits the back of her head and her vision goes black for a few seconds, all her senses fading away. When she comes back to it, there's a gag in her mouth and in the lack of a rope, Yardley is using one of his hands to hold her wrists together behind her back. His grip is strong enough to bruise, he's pulling her to her feet and dragging her over to the good door. She listens as he knocks on it three times, a clear sign for the men waiting outside.

Right after, she can feel his lips brushing against her ear shell. He inhales the scent of her hair from behind, free hand venturing down her chest and stomach. Absolutely repulsed, she does her best to block the fear and try to fight.

His hand is gone from her body, but a knife is soon placed to her throat.

Feeling the coldness of the blade against her skin, she stops immediately.

"Be a good girl for us now, or you die." He says in her ear. His putrid breath is enough to make bile rise in her throat.

Tears burn in her eyes and she needs to close them for a few seconds, wanting to keep her dignity intact.

It's getting harder and harder to ignore the fear, with each passing moment and each brush of his lips against her ear, cheek or neck.

She suddenly finds herself mentally urging Charles to fucking get a move on.

_Now would be a perfect time for those damn cannon blasts to finally cut through the silence._

* * *

It's always been a thing. The barely perceptible, although insistent buzzing in his ears. The short hairs standing up on the back of his neck, the quick clench in his gut.

It's happened countless times throughout the years, always when Eleanor was in some sort of trouble, so by now, he can no longer try to ignore it or pass it off as simple, meaningless coincidence.

It's a primitive instinct; the same one that woke him up one night, nearly two decades ago, to alert him that his newborn baby girl had been suffocating in her sleep.

_Madi could have died that night._

Swallowing hard, he looks at the town.

Nothing but silence up to this point, and as John comes to stand at his side by the rail, he nervously averts his eyes to the Fancy.

There's a group of four men standing close to the door to the captain's quarters; far too close to his liking, and he subconsciously grips the rail tighter when the one known as Jenks leans his ear close to the wood.

_As if listening to something from inside the cabin._

"...wrong?"

Frowning, he glances at John.

"What?"

"I asked if there's something wrong. You seem restless."

Just as he's about to answer, a third voice cuts him off.

Jenks and the rest of the men are now standing by the rail of the Fancy too, and he watches in silent suspicion as they request to have a word with John.

"That one too." Jenks specifies, pointing at Vincent, and Scott doesn't fail to notice the way the man cowers, lowering his eyes to the floor when he looks at him in question.

_There's something wrong._

John meets his eyes briefly, as if asking for his opinion on the matter, but before he can say a word, the younger man is forcing a smile and heading towards the gangway.

That clench in his gut comes back.

* * *

Wood creaks all around them as they follow Jenks through the darkened corridors, and he frowns when they reach the door he'd broken open in order to get to Eleanor.

He remembers it was barricaded by a table the last time he stepped foot in that cabin, but it seems that has changed.

It's wide open now, and his jaw drops slightly when they walk through it.

Her eyebrows furrow together when she sees him, and even in her current state she looks like she's about to tear his head off his shoulders.

She probably would, if it wasn't for the brute restraining her arms behind her back.

Oh, and she'd probably be yelling profanities too, if it wasn't for the gag in her mouth.

"Sit."

Only Vincent obeys.

The table has been pushed to the center of the cabin now, and while Jenks walks around it to sit on the captain's chair, he stops in his tracks, nodding at the very enraged blonde mess.

"She's..." Forcing a smile in order to keep the polite facade up, he looks from Eleanor to Jenks. "I don't think this is what you're supposed to be doing right now-"

" _Sit_."

It's clearly an order this time, accompanied by the cocking of guns, and he takes a look around to see three of the six men in the cabin pointing their weapons at his head.

He's not sure why, but he shares a brief look with Eleanor before finally doing as he was told.

Lacing his fingers together on the surface of the desk, Jenks leans forward in his seat.

"The conflict ahead promises much risk for us, and very little reward to compensate for it. And so, we would like to leave this place. Now, your friend over here-" He points at Vincent, and John meets the man's eyes with a frown. "...says you're just the man to help us do it. My problem is a shortage of manpower. I need more men than I have to fully crew this ship. So I want names."

"Names?"

"One list, ten men. Those most likely to consent to join my crew. Help me sail this ship away from here. The amount received for the girl's safe return will be divided between us all, equally, we get this ship, we get safe passage away from the hell that is certain to be unleashed soon... And free usage of that pretty little thing over there. First go is yours if you're willing to help me."

He nods towards Eleanor and John looks at her over his shoulder, disgust written all over his face at the thought. She can't help but roll her eyes at that.

Focusing his attention back on Jenks, he pretends to think for a moment.

" _Enticing_... And the men whose names aren't on that list?"

Silence is all he gets as response, and then Vincent finally speaks.

"I told them we ain't got no real connection to this crew. You help him, we both get safe passage back to Nassau. Let them go wherever they please after that, he said we'll be free to walk away with our share of the money, then he sets sail to flee from Vane. We'll be unharmed."

It's stronger than him. Once more, he looks over his shoulder to meet Eleanor's eyes, and she immediately shakes her head slightly. The brute tightens his grip on her wrists in warning, it seems, as she inhales sharply in pain.

He's not even sure why he looked at her, but his decision is already made.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with the blonde tyrant's opinion on the matter.

.

Her heart is drumming in her chest as John breaks eyes contact. He's looking at Jenks again, and she grows more restless with each second of his silence.

Trying her very best to ignore the growing discomfort and the pain in her wrists, she waits.

"No."

The relief is so strong, her eyes actually fall closed for a quick moment.

" _No?_ " Jenks repeats, crinkling his nose in disbelief, and she watches as John shakes his head.

"I won't do it."

She's just waiting to offer that bastard a mocking sneer, as soon as he glances her way, but instead of doing so, he reaches for his cutlass.

It happens so fast, not even John has time to react.

Her eyes go wide as he runs Vincent through with the cutlass, one of the men rushing over to cover his mouth and keep him from screaming.

John meets her eyes briefly, then they both watch in horror as Jenks cuts a deep gash across Vincent's stomach.

Blood and guts spill out, the sight makes her stomach churn. The body falls off the chair, slumping to the floor.

It's done silently, as to not cause any alert. Both her and John are breathing heavily, unable to look away from the dead body.

"Do not doubt my seriousness. In a short while, escaping from this place will be far harder than it is right now. Right now, the only thing preventing a clean escape is the men to make it work. And you're gonna give me those men."

When they look at him again, he has a worn axe in his hands.

"Now, if you kill me, what good will that do to you?"

Despite his nervousness, obvious in each word he said, John still manages to smirk. She's able to see his profile, Yeardley has dragged her closer to the table. Probably to make her even more disgusted at the dead body, now lying near her feet.

Jenks pays her no mind, hateful, determined eyes fixed on John's face. His fingers tighten around the hilt of the axe.

"None, whatsoever."

Deep down, she already knows what'll come next.

Four of the men surge forward, grabbing a firm hold of his arms and legs. All his attempts to fight against them prove fruitless as they bring him up on the table. A fifth one appears out of nowhere, holding his head down and clasping a hand over his mouth. His arms and legs are restrained as well, he's still trashing around tirelessly, but it's five against one and there's only so much he can do.

"You'll let me know when I might have those names."

He's trying to say something, the hand covering his mouth keeping him from doing so. Jenks raises the axe above his head, and Eleanor tries to scream through the gag as he brings it down with all his strength, the muffled " _No_ " drowning under the sickening noises that flood the cabin.

The sound of John's bones cracking is louder than the blow itself to her ears.

And it's absolutely spine-chilling.

* * *

_"...I fear the stories I carry with me are my sole comfort..."_

When the girl asked for a blank journal and a quill, shortly after he moved her to a proper cabin, he was tempted to just ignore her requests.

Instead, he found himself rummaging through the cargo hold and bringing the items to her.

He had no idea this gesture of his would bring them something so useful.

It surprised him; just how many pages she was able to fill with fancy words in a few short days. So this is what she was doing, during all those hours locked up in her tiny cabin?

As the clerk reads the words aloud, giving them the precious extra time they needed, the man beside him finally gives in.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Came to get the money. Stayed to get you out of all this. Figured if anyone was going to make a trophy of you, it really ought to be me."

Flint merely glances at him out the corner of his eye.

"So this is your plan? Walk in here and read a girl's diary?"

"More or less."

He seems more interested now, his head not fully turned Charles' way, but at least he's not just staring at the crowd anymore.

"I see. So now you have everyone's eyes where you want them, on the two of us, what happens next?"

He can't stop himself from smirking softly at the thought.

His men are probably claiming the cannons by now, and excitement is already bubbling in his veins.

_"...So much lies ahead in Charles Town, a future..."_

"When it happens, once I'm free, whenever it is, you won't want to get in my way."

His eyes fill with warning.

"When it happens,  _we_  will be moving to the jetty and out of this place. Didn't come all this way to have them kill you steps from the gallows."

Flint scoffs at that, shaking his head briefly. Every move is discreet as can be.

"Leave here. To find what? A ship full of prisoners, I assume."

"Your men are free, and waiting for you. I needed their help... with something."

He could swear he saw the corner of the older man's lips twitch up for a moment.

"Her?"

His jaw clenches. He nearly rolls his eyes.

"World doesn't revolve around her. I don't trust some of mine. Wouldn't want them running off with the money and the ship, so I asked-"

"You asked Scott to keep an eye on them. You asked him to somehow prompt my men to act, should yours try anything against Eleanor. I'm not sure there is much he can do."

His frown comes automatically. Heart sinking a little, he turns his head to look at Flint's profile again.

"He said he holds authority over them."

"Not as much as he thinks. They're more likely to respond to Silver in my absence by now. And what makes you think they'd be willing to fight for her? Sorry, but only way they'd step in, is if one of ours was in danger. If it's just about her, Scott would be fighting alone... Which means you might want to prepare yourself for what you're going to find, if we make it out of this alive."

There's a new urgency in the air now, he lowers his eyes to his chained wrists.

While mentally scolding himself for worrying so damn much, he realizes he's just silently admitted that Flint was right in his assumptions.

And it doesn't take too long until he teases him about it.

"Is this the reason why she says you're weak?" The older man asks, and he looks at him again while narrowing his eyes.

"You let your own stupidity corner you into such a situation, and _I_  am the weak one?"

"No woman ever took my ship from me. Or my dignity, for that matter. Can you say the same?"

_Yeah, maybe he should just shut up for now._

Luckily for him, Flint soon changes the subject.

"They're all trying so hard to convince themselves that they have nothing to be afraid of. How is running gonna change that?"

Fists clenched in anger, -  _and head full of worries for that damn woman_  - Charles heaves a sigh.

"What do you suggest?"

"That we remind them that they were right to be afraid."

The words catch him off guard.

He glances at Flint again, to find him finally facing him fully, and the look in his eyes is enough to kill any remaining doubts.

They're on the same side now.

_And it's time_.

His heart skips a beat and he doesn't think twice before rising from his seat.

"What are you doing?"

"I wish to speak on behalf of the defendant."

"You have not been recognized. Sit back and you'll-"

Ignoring the prosecutor completely, and turning to face the crowd, he tries not to let the uncomfortable feeling of the shackles get to him.

Or the unpleasant, painful memories they bring right to the surface.

"These men convinced you that they speak for you."

"How dare you?"

"That the power you've given them is used in your interests."

"I will not have the order in my court usurped by your foul desires-"

"That the prisoner before you is your enemy and they your friends. For those of you who live to see tomorrow..."

He can see the expressions on their faces changing. They begin to whisper among themselves, probably wondering what these words meant.

Hell, they're about to find out.

"...know that you had a choice to see the truth and you let yourselves be convinced otherwise."

"That's enough! Bailiffs, remove him."

The shackles feel lighter than they should as he raises his hands in the air. There's not a single person in the crowd who doesn't focuse their full attention on his closed fists.

For a brief second, he worries it won't work.

_Only one way to find out._

"I said remove him from the dais!"

Shortly after he brings his fists down, it begins.

First the mansion, then one, two, three buildings nearby.

Relief and pride fill his chest.

Panic sets in all around them, the screams of the crowd mixing with the cannon shots, the buildings crumbling down. Smoke rises, people begin to try and run away, stumbling on one another. He takes advantage of all the commotion to grab the nearest guard's weapon and use it to deliver a blow to the man's jaw.

Flint has already sprung into action too, he's pleased to see, tackling the other guard to the ground.

Still holding the musket, he jumps from the dais, through the smoke, using the weapon to take down any opponents who dared to try and step into his way.

Out the corner of his eye, he notices the way Flint suddenly stops, as if he'd seen something. He truly did, apparently, as he begins to walk away in that direction with purposeful steps.

Charles loses sight of him.

* * *

"Wait! James!"

It's such a pitiful sight, he would have smirked in amusement if it wasn't for all the dark emotions taking him over.

He's taken the two last remaining guards down and retrieved one of their swords; not even the shackles were able to restrain him or even slow him down at this point.

And now there's absolutely nothing standing in the way between him and the man he once called his friend.

Peter has his hands up, half in a gesture of surrender, half in an attempt at calming him down, keep him from coming any closer. His eyes are filled with the rawest fear.

He does have all the reason in the world to be afraid.

Letting himself be driven solely by his rage, he attacks.

Adrenaline takes him over as he runs Peter through with the sword. There is no regret at all when they lock eyes, his former friend bringing his hands up to his shoulders, mouth parted in shock and pain.

As soon as he withdraws the sword, harshly, the man is falling down on his knees. He wastes no time, pushing him onto his back and grabbing the hair on the back of his head. Hatred courses through his veins as he forces Peter to look at the pale dead body, about twenty feet away from them.

"Her word will be the last word for this place."

There's so much more he would love to do. So much more pain he's absolutely dying to inflict upon this man. His brain is already swimming with the darkest, most delicious possibilities. He faintly hears the rushed footsteps sounding from behind him.

_"Move!"_

Charles' tone is laced with urgency, and it's enough to bring him back to the here and now.

Rising back to his normal stature, he takes a moment to make sure Peter is still looking at her corpse, before finally diving into the chaos of smoke and fleeing citizens with his new, unlikely ally.

* * *

**_Fancy_ **

It's happening.

When the first cannon shot filled their ears, she thought her legs might give out from under her.

It worked.

_He's coming back._

The relief was strong, but her joy was short lived.

The explosions had a very different effect on Jenks and the men, that animal's despair growing.

"Give me the names!"

He seems to be taking his anger out on John by now, putting much more effort into bringing that damn axe down onto his leg. And even though she never really cared about him, her stomach is churning.

She wants to cry.

One of the men waiting outside opens the good door and he stops momentarily, catching his breath.

"What?!"

"They've engaged the blockade. The patrol ships are scrambling."

He just stares at the crew member for a moment; she sees the the briefest hint of despair in his eyes even as he makes a decision.

"Weigh the anchor!"

Her heart sinks, the man nods before closing the door again.

"I'll take my chances sailing over taking on those ships."

She watches Jenks closely, keeping his eyes bravely despite all the fear.

He seems to be trying to make a decision, knowing that getting the names would be impossible and useless at this point. Running a hand over his face, he paces around in the cabin for a moment.

She meets John's eyes, surprised to find the ghost of a smirk on his face. He's so weak, but he winks discreetly, nodding in the direction of the door as she frowns in question.

Only then she notices it; the faint clashing of a sword. Then another, and another.

The sounds of a fight, drowned by all those cannon shots from the certainly doomed town.

And clearly, they're the only ones who managed to detect it.

She would have smiled if it wasn't for the gag in her mouth.

They break eye contact when Jenks grabs a knife from his belt.

He makes his way back to the table, putting the blade to John's throat and pausing only to meet her eyes again.

"He's put us into this mess. If we manage to make it out alive,  _you_  will be the one paying for that mistake... Let's see how you'll like being passed around this crew like the common whore you are."

She swallows hard, her eyes widening a bit as he focused back on John. He's about to slit his throat when the good door is suddenly flung open.

Shouts fill the cabin, about ten men rushing inside. She briefly sees John's wide smile before a battle begins between the torturers and the newcomers.

Yardley tries to pull her along, closer to the balcony door, and she soon realizes why.

One of the men who just invaded the cabin is not at all focused on John, his dark eyes fixed on her and her captor instead.

She doesn't think she ever saw Scott looking this angry.

He raises his gun, narrowing his eyes, and her reflexes are quick.

Yardley lets go when she kicks his groin with all her strength, and she ducks just as Scott fires the shot.

The body falls to the floor. She removes the gag from her mouth, noticing the bullet hole on his forehead. A proud smile graces her lips as she looks away to meet her former guardian's eyes again.

The joy soon gives place to horror.

Jenks is advancing towards Scott, he tries to shoot the fucking pig too, only to realize he's run out of ammunition.

Her mouth goes dry as Jenks tackles him to the floor, axe still in hand.

The other men are busy fighting the torturers and protecting John, and when Jenks raises the axe above his head, she feels as if she's ten years old again.

In her hiding spot, helplessly listening as the Spaniards raided her home.

_And killed her mother._

"Please don't!"

Her voice is breaking, she barely recognizes it as her own. Tears spring to her eyes, the deepest despair taking her over.

It feels just like a nightmare, her worst nightmare, but it's real.

_"Stop!"_

That animal is going to burst Scott's head open and there's nothing she can do, just like when Caroline was taken from her-

Her wrist presses against something hard, she suddenly remembers Charles' dagger hidden underneath her coat.

And she doesn't hesitate for a fucking moment.

Terrified little girl gives place to strong, grown woman again, and she rises to her feet.

The axe is just about to be brought down as she surges forward, grabbing Jenks from behind and digging the dagger into his throat without a split second's hesitation.

He drops the axe; it falls to the floor beside them with a loud thud. She focuses on pulling the dagger to the side, trying to slit his throat open as she knows she's supposed to do.

The feeling of his flesh giving out even further sends a shudder down her spine, a strangled sound leaving her own throat as she pulled him off of Scott with a strength she had no idea she possessed. She's shaking in both rage and horror.

Perhaps she went a little to far. It was supposed to be a simple slit; she watched Charles do it once. But her rage spoke louder and the dagger is now buried to the hilt into that bastard's neck.

Blood is pouring out onto her hands, Jenks uses his last ounce of strength to turn around and grab her arms, intent on fighting.

But it's just too late for him. The wound is too deep, she can see muscle tissue and his mutilated larynx clearly through the gash across his neck. She watches as he gurgles, some blood coming out of his mouth and trailing down to stain his beard as his eyes lose their focus.

_He's gone_.

All other sounds, all the noise in the cabin simply fade away as he falls on top of her.

The only thing she can really hear is her own ragged breathing. Time seems to stop for a while.

Until the dead body is shoved off of her, slumping to the side like a bag of garbage.

She can hear everything properly again, coming back from her dazzled state as Scott helps her into a sitting position.

The first thing he does is grab a hold of her chin, his eyes tirelessly searching her face and neck for any wounds. Then he checks the rest of her body, breathing a long sigh of relief when he realized that all the blood covering her skin and clothes belonged only to Jenks.

They share a look before he gives in, pulling her into his arms.

One of his hands cradles the back of her head, the other one rubbing her left shoulder reassuringly. It reminds her of when he tried to comfort her in the carriage, shortly after she witnessed the macabre sight of her mother's mangled corpse.

"It's alright now, child." He whispers close to her ear. A lone tear escapes her as she finally returns the embrace, squeezing her eyes shut and letting out a shuddering breath.

Across the cabin, the last mutineer from Charles' crew is successfully killed.

* * *

_She remembers spending the entire night awake, plagued by the image of lady Hamilton's pale face. The hole on her forehead, her unfocused eyes._

_She remembers being ready in the morning, she remembers walking out of the mansion and getting inside the coach. She remembers her eyelids feeling heavier and heavier, and she remembers the moment she decided to stop fighting sleep and let the soft rocking lull her to sleep._

_She remembers all of it, so right now, she knows she's only dreaming._

_She knows the people all around her are not really here, this is not really happening._

_She's not sitting at a table with Eleanor and the captain, watching in fascinated silence as the crew plays cards, drinking and singing sea shanties of the most varied types._

_Etiquette rules do not apply here. No one is paying the slightest attention to her table manners, whether her posture is impeccably straight or not. She knows her hair is a messy chaos, but no one seems to disapprove of it._

_She can breathe in, deliciously deep. There is no corset underneath her clothing, squeezing the life out of her._

_Again, no one cares._

_She just has to smile wide at Eleanor and the captain. The blonde is clearly drunk, closing her eyes and moving closer to rest her head on his shoulder. It distracts him from the card game, his attention traveling to her instead. He smiles softly, like a love-struck young lad._

_She wants them to be like this. She knows they care about each other, and it still hurts when she remembers she was the main source of so much conflict between them since that night at the fort._

_Suddenly, there are more people entering the room they're in. The tall, blonde man catches her eye immediately. He has the curly haired one with him too, and when they walk closer to the table, Billy meets her eyes with a warm, reassuring smile._

_For some reason, she frowns._

_Then she averts her eyes and her heart skips a beat._

_There, sitting right across the table, is the woman whose face had been haunting her since yesterday._

_She's still unnaturally pale. But on her forehead, there is nothing but a round, well healed scar._

_She's smiling like a proud mother, eyes filled with the sweetest nostalgia and affection._

_"I am so happy for you. Don't be scared."_

_Abigail is about to ask what she meant by that, when a loud noise fills the room._

_The sea shanties stop, the men begin to look around in confusion. Eleanor raises her head from the captain's shoulder, now in full alert mode. The two share a look, and they all hear the same noise again._

_It's like an explosion of sorts._

_Maybe she should wake up?_

_It never stops, only getting worse, ruining her peaceful little world. It all begins to disappear, the people, the cozy room, the table, everything._

Suddenly, she can't take deep breaths anymore, steel bones squeezing her torso uncomfortably as she opens her eyes to the inside of the coach.

Everything's gone.

Everything but the noises.

It's much louder now, and whatever it is, she just knows it's bad.

"Stop..." Her voice is a strained, pitiful thing. She needs to clear her throat before trying again. "Please stop the coach now!"

It takes a few moments, as if the coachman is hesitating, and she's about to repeat the order when he finally obeys.

She's immediately throwing the door open and jumping down to the ground, her heavy skirts deterring her a bit.

She knows in which direction the town is located, it should actually be easy to see it from here, since they're now making their way up a hill. But trees and thick bushes obstruct the view on both sides of the dirt road, and she begins to look for a rift in the vegetation.

As soon as she finds one, she's grabbing her skirts and beginning to rush towards it.

"Miss Ashe, wait!"

The voice stops her in her tracks.

She hadn't paid any attention to the coachman, not even sparing him a glance, she just knew it was Mr. Bennett... but that's not his voice.

Sure enough, when she turns around to look at him, she's greeted with a pair of tired turquoise eyes and a face that certainly does not belong to the 47 year old coachman her father had always trusted the most.

Utterly confused, she takes a moment to find her voice again.

"I do not understand what-"

Her words are cut off by the noises again and she turns back around, taking off towards the side of the road.

She's aware that Billy is hot on her heels. His concern is flattering, but as soon as she makes it to the rift in the bushes and trees, nothing else really matters.

Her heart begins to drum madly in her chest, she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment to make sure this is reality, to make sure she's not dreaming still.

_She'd been hoping that was the case._

But when she opens her eyes again, the harsh reality finally registers.

There's smoke and dust everywhere. She's barely able to see the crumbling buildings, but she swears the screams are audible all the way from here.

Her breathing begins to come out ragged

"No."

It comes gradually, in slow waves. But she's understanding the seriousness of the situation more and more with each passing second.

Her despair only grows too.

_"No!"_

Unable to think clearly, she makes a move to run back in the direction of the town, but Billy grabs a hold of her arm.

It would have been a nasty fall; she would have slipped on the uneven terrain, falling right into the thorn filled bushes below.

At first, she bangs her fists against his chest, demanding that he let her go, but it only serves to make him hold her even tighter.

In the end, her strength dies down and she just covers her mouth with one hand, the other one finding the collar of Billy's shirt. Her fingers close around it tightly and she rests the side of her head against his chest. Her tears flow freely as she watches the burning town, jumping slightly in his arms with each cannon shot.

_"Papa..."_

She doesn't get to see him closing his eyes, but she feels it when he begins to rub reassuring circles on her back, hesitatingly at first.

Now, it feels like an embrace rather than just an attempt at restraining her.

He's whispering random words of comfort into her hair, but none of them really register.

Between broken sobs and shuddering breaths, she turns her head to bury her face against his chest, having decided she'd had enough of the sight.

Unsure what to do, he heaves a sigh, settling for simply holding her until she calmed down.

However long that's going to take.

For some strange reason he can not even begin to try and understand, his heart breaks with every single tear she sheds on his shirt.

* * *

John seems to be finally succumbing to the pain. She hears the grunts of agony he tries his best to hold back as four of the men work on carrying him to the gangway.

"We'll take you to Howell!" She hears one of them say in a reassuring voice. Her features contort into a grimace as she catches sight of his knee again.

It's bent at an awkward angle, she's sure his bones have been crushed. There's a lot of blood too; it's certainly bad.

There's probably no hope, no way to save that leg. She knows what that means for him, and a shudder goes down her spine.

Her eyes then drop to her own bloody clothes and hands.

"You're  _not_  alright." Scott points out, tone laced with concern. "You're shaking. Go back inside Vane's cabin, I can handle this. You should just try and calm down for now."

" _Later_." Her resolute, firm voice leaves no room for argument. It looks like he wants to say something else, but in the end, he just keeps his mouth shut.

His eyes are still filled with worry but she shakes her head dismissively and rushes over to the rail, spyglass in hand.

Her heart is beating madly as she searches the waters, trying to keep calm.

It's impossible, they're nowhere to be seen and she's just starting to assume the worst when something catches her attention.

Through all the dust and smoke, covering even the sea, she sees an oar moving.

_**Two**  oars._

Her fingers tighten around the spyglass, she swallows hard.

The outline of the rowboat and its occupants becomes visible, and she has to hold back from cheering out loud.

"He did it."

It's a tough quest to keep her voice neutral. Letting it all show; all the pride and the joy she's feeling, would be unacceptable. Nobody can know how fucking impressed she really is.

But it's not over just yet.

A heavy hand settles on her right shoulder, and she lowers her spyglass to meet Scott's eyes.

"If those ships flank us... They'll have us." He informs, pointing at two of the patrol ships, and she immediately takes a look around.

"Surely we must have cannons on this thing."

"The Fancy? Of course."

She nods at his words, giving him the go ahead.

"Time to put them to good use."

"...as you wish."

After hesitating for a moment, probably still worried about her emotional well being after the hell they've just been through, he looks away from her face to yell the orders.

"Gun crews at the ready!"

The men scramble about, getting acquainted with the unfamiliar ship, and she's satisfied to see they soon have the cannons ready.

"Fire at will!" She takes it upon herself to give the command, and while some of them look over at Scott in search of his approval too, others are more than happy to obey her.

She can't help but flinch when the first shot is fired.

It's louder than she could have ever imagined; this is the first time she hears it from such a short distance. And she's already in a pretty fragile state.

But this isn't the time to cower.

Her hands are sweating as she brings the spyglass up to her face again.

The men got the patrol ships, so she decides to look for the rowboat and make sure everything is okay with the two fugitives.

The corners of her lips twitch up.

They're even closer now, halfway to the ship, but just as she's about to allow herself to relax a little, a scowl comes to her face.

There seems to be someone shooting at them, and she's quick to target the source of the attacks.

"What's wrong?" Scott asks as she clenches her jaw, watching the men in the jetty through the spyglass.

She doesn't bother with an answer, turning around to look at some of Flint's men instead.

"Whoever can get a clear shot, I want that jetty destroyed. They're about to fire a cannon at them."

They stop momentarily, apparently hesitating to follow any further orders from her, and she puts on her best scowl.

_"Now!"_

They were probably able to hear that shout from the rowboat.

But it worked, and that's all that matters.

As the men ready the cannon, she swallows hard, going back to watching the jetty. Those bastards are about to fire their own shot when the loud noise makes her ears ring again.

The smoke has subsided a little, so she's able to bask in the sight of their surprised, horrified faces.

Then the jetty is going up in dust and debris, and she raises her chin in triumph. Her face is a serious mask, her eyes dropping to the rowboat for a second.

She still needs these two idiots alive, which means no one will be harming either of them for now.

* * *

The patrol ships have been successfully sunk.

The town is burning, and it's been a few minutes since she had the jetty destroyed.

Adrenaline began to subside shortly after, and her legs felt as if they were about to give out.

Scott helped her to one of the crates, sitting by her side and grabbing her trembling hands in his.

She'd been on edge since the incident with Jenks, but now all the noise has made it worse.

"It's shock. Breathe in, deep and slow." She heard him say, and no matter how many times she tries to follow that advice, inhaling and exhaling deeply, her heart simply refuses to slow down.

Her mouth feels dry. When the two men climb over the rail, still in shackles, but mostly unharmed, her eyes fall closed in relief.

She recovers before anyone can notice.

Charles has a scowl on his face, as soon as he sees her out here. She somehow finds the strength to roll her eyes at him.

"Captain." Scott calls out, letting go of her hands and getting to his feet.

The two of them are immediately making their way over to the crates.

"There was quite a bit of turmoil since you left." His words are directed at Charles this time, and he gestures at one of the fallen mutineers. "It's been taken care of... As per your request."

She's perfectly able to hear the humor in his teasing tone. Judging by Charles' scoff, he detects it too.

Flint is looking all around the ship, she watches his every move from her spot on the crate.

"What happened here?"

"Two of ours were in danger, sir. They were lured into this ship, and when I realized what was going on, I prompted the men to act. Unfortunately, we could only save one. And I could be gone by now too, if it wasn't for her." Scott glances at her over his shoulder, and she frowns in confusion before realizing what is it he's trying to do. "One of them was about to burst my head open when she decided to slit his throat. She saved my life, and yours as well. She was the one who arranged the destruction of that jetty, after noticing the activity taking place in there."

All she wants is to get to her feet, but her legs still feel way too shaky and weak for that.

So she at least keeps Flint's eyes as he closes the short distance to her, trying her best to keep the strong facade up.

He stops, looking down at her face and considering her in silence for what feels like forever.

Her heart skips a beat as he extends his right hand. She eyes it for a moment before placing her own palm in his.

With a simple handshake, they seal their peace for everyone to see.

And she feels absolutely thrilled.

_She did it._

Heart beating madly, she swallows hard.

"Now what?" It's nothing but a whisper, meant only for his ears. She expects him to lean down discreetly, to let her in on whatever the next step was.

To take her to the vessel he'd conquered, so that they could have some privacy to discuss their new plans.

She just hopes Charles won't try to stand in their way, or-

"Now we go back home, and if need be, we protect her from these people... We were mistaken. About many things."

At first, she just stares at him as if he's grown a second head. She's about to demand an explanation when he speaks again; for everyone to hear, this time.

"This is where I stand now, and nothing in this world will dissuade me. Not after today. You are free to choose your side. But be aware that if you keep going down this road... Then it will be war between you and I."

It feels as if the world is crumbling all around her. With each word he says, her dismay only grows.

"We have been allies for a long time. Long enough, I believe, for you to understand that you do  _not_  want me as an enemy. You have seen, time and again, what I do to my enemies."

She's well aware of Scott and Charles' eyes on them, and a shiver goes down her spine when Flint leans closer briefly, his tone dark and filled with warning.

"Do not think for a moment that I would hesitate this time, just because it's  _you._ This is the only warning you will ever receive, and make sure to keep your pitiful excuse of a father in line too."

Her only reaction is to keep his stare bravely; she can't bring herself to express her displeasure in any way.

Not out of fear, but simply because she was caught completely off guard.

She'd been certain he would still be willing to follow through with their original plans, even after what happened today...

Perhaps she should have known better.

Apparently satisfied with her -  _seemingly_  - passive behavior, Flint steps away from her and turns around to face Charles again.

"I need your firepower."

He nods briefly, giving him permission, and the older man wastes no time.

"Take us back towards the sandbar, southwest corner of the bay. We'll start from there."

His men spring into action immediately, and only then she notices there's actually someone missing.

"Wait, what about Mrs. Barlow?"

Flint merely gives her a somber look, and it's all the answer she needs.

"Ready the guns! Full complement."

He stops by the rail, keeping his back to them while watching the town.

"Target?" Charles inquiries, and they share a brief look.

"Whatever's left."

She could swear she's able to smell his stupid satisfaction and triumph across the damn ship.

But strangely, right now, she cannot feel any anger. Towards either of them.

All she feels is a huge dismay. She's still exhausted and in shock.

Scott comes back to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently.

When it begins again; the cannon blasts and the shouting among the men, she tries her best to focus on her breathing.

The noise doesn't help matters, decidedly.

Half of her was actually expecting Charles to come closer and offer her some comfort too, but he just stands there with his new ally, basking in the sight of all that destruction. It's their victory, and apparently, they cannot get enough of it.

Eventually, they turn around and begin to make their way back to the crates. Scott lets go of her shoulder, meeting them halfway.

"Billy went ashore, but he will be returning home and joining us again in a few days. He wanted to get the child to safety. Thought you'd like to know that."

Despite his obvious surprise, Flint nods at the news.

"Good."

She sees him frown, then he's looking all around the ship and the men. By now, the ones who'd accompanied Charles ashore have returned too. Both crews are manning the cannons together, and whoever it is Flint is looking for, he doesn't seem to find them.

She's pretty sure there is a hint of concern in his eyes when he looks at Scott's face again.

"Where is he?"

Now she understands, and she lowers her head at the same time as Scott.

"What?"

She was unable to quite decode his eyes, but there is definitely concern and anxiety in his voice.

"Come with me"

When she raises her head, they're both heading towards the gangway, and Flint turns around to look at Charles for a short moment.

"Man o war is yours when we make it back home. Consider our debt settled."

Just as Flint had ordered, his men stay behind to move the ship southwest and continue the attacks.

She's never seen him this pissed before, not even during the whole fort ordeal.

And something tells her he'll be even angrier when he sees the state John's in, so she should probably keep her distance for now.

Finally, after standing there like a moron for a few seconds, Charles walks over to the crates.

He glances at the men, making sure they were still distracted, before grabbing her chin and letting his eyes roam over what he could see of her body.

She's still covered in blood; it's mostly dry and sticking to her skin uncomfortably by now, and he heaves a sigh.

"Who?"

Her voice nearly breaks when she responds. "Jenks."

He doesn't seem surprised at all.

Even with the shackles restraining his movements, he still manages to help her to her feet.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

The world may spin all around her when she begins to walk on unsteady legs. But hell, she'll die before she allows herself to lean on him for support.

"Close the door on your way out." Charles tells the last remaining man in the cabin, not even looking away from her face.

She's sitting on the table, waiting silently as he cleaned her face and neck with a moist rag. He's standing right in front of her, keeping a hold of her chin and focusing on the task at hand.

When they made it to the cabin, he produced a key from the pocket in his pants. Apparently, he was able to retrieve it after killing one of the guards, and she helped him get rid of the shackles.

_His relief was palpable._

The cabin was still a mess, the mutineers' bodies strewn around, so he said he would have some of his loyal men take care of that while he barricaded the broken door again and cleaned all the blood from her face.

He did make sure to check Jenks' body first though, retrieving his beloved dagger and spending a few long moments just analyzing the deep wound on that bastard's neck.

He even had the audacity to congratulate her, although _"her technique was messy at best"_ , according to his own words.

Then, she was startled out of her mind as her eyes settled on the doorway.

Standing there, watching them, was a boy of maybe thirteen. Way too skinny, his wary eyes filled with torment and his skin as dark as the moonless sky.

His shirt was loose fitting, revealing some of his chest, which allowed her to see the all too familiar shape of the mark on his skin.

"Jaheim." Charles had said, grabbing the boy's attention. He asked him to bring some men to get rid of the bodies, and he was quick to obey.

_**Too**  quick._

"I had not seen him before. The boy. What is the story here?" She asks cautiously, as soon as the door is closed and they're finally alone again.

Charles heaves a sigh, letting the rag drop to the surface of the table.

"When I went back there... Jaheim was the first slave I saw in the morning. He was standing there when I woke up, with that damn mark on his chest, and it took me back in time."

She watches as he runs his fingers over the discarded shackles, resting on the table near her legs. He touches the chains, and she steals a quick glance at his face.

"Just a kid. Couldn't leave him there. So I brought him with me. You didn't see him before because he mostly keeps to himself... Staying in the shadows, watching everything. Never speaking unless he's spoken to. And obeying everything I say like a loyal dog. I knew it was dangerous, so I didn't take him ashore. He stayed, but apparently, he was asleep in the crew's quarters when Jenks decided to pull that little trick of his... Right now, I'm just trying to make him understand he will never starve or be flogged again."

She swallows hard, knowing this was dangerous territory. It's a very touchy subject, and she doesn't want to talk about it. Things could get too deep, too fast.

He turns around, walking over to lock the good door.

"You disobeyed me. Didn't you?"

Her eyes narrow as he faces her again.

"I never unlocked the damn door. And it wasn't out of obedience, but out of concern for my own safety.  _Screw_  your orders."

The left corner of his lips twitches up briefly. Still standing by the door, he crosses his arms over his chest.

"What happened, then?"

"We overlooked the fucking details of this cabin... One of them, Yardley, I believe, managed to climb his way up to that damn balcony of yours, and when I realized it, it was too late. I didn't even have the chance to fire a shot. He subdued me, and shortly after, Jenks was here with some of the men... And Silver. He tried to get him to speak, to make a list with ten names. Men who would be willing to join his crew. I was actually used as motivation-"

" _Motivation_." His tone is acid, and she shrugs.

"Free usage, as Jenks said himself. They would keep me, and he wanted to pass me around the crew." She notices the clench of his jaw, his fists, and the darkness in his eyes. And she ignores it. "Silver refused to cooperate. They moved on to try and torture the names out of him, but then your attacks upon the town began, and when one of the men waiting outside came let us know the patrol ships were moving, he ended up opening that door behind you, instead of walking the corridors to access the other one. I suppose Scott saw that, and he realized I was in danger. He must have told Flint's men that Silver was in trouble, which was true in the end, and they attacked. He killed Yardley, but then..."

There's suddenly a knot in her throat, as she relives those moments. Blinking a few times, she breathes in deep.

"He ran out of ammunition. Jenks attacked him, and he was going to burst his head open with the same axe he'd been using to torture Silver. I remembered the dagger just in time, and..."

Her voice breaks. It pisses her off, and she subconsciously searches the floor for the evidences of the fight.

There is now another messy, huge, round stain in the wood planks. Right beside Low's dried blood.

It all suddenly comes flooding over her, all the awful feelings she'd been trying to repress. A shudder goes down her spine.

"Fuck, what did I do?"

Her eyes fall closed, but she hears his rushed footsteps as he walked over to the table.

"You saved a good man's life, that's what you did."

Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, she examines her hands. They're resting on her lap, and even though Charles tried to clean them too, they were too shaky.

There's still some blood under her nails, between her fingers, and the sight makes her feel even worse.

"I had blood on my hands so many times before. You know that very well, don't you?But I was always getting others to do the dirty part of the job. Virgil. Anne...  _You_."

He looks like he wants to inquiry about the " _Anne_ " part, but in the end, he just lets her continue.

"Now I have blood on my hands again, but in the literal sense of the word this time. I do not regret it for a second. Not at all, it just... It feels so different... To actually  _do_  it. I had no idea. It felt... I can't describe it, I felt his flesh giving out, there was this strange pressure, I felt the blood, gushing out. I didn't know it was warm like that. It just felt warm, there was so much of it. I could smell it. It was so surreal. He tried to fight back, he looked right into my eyes, and I saw the moment when all his fire died down, the exact moment when he realized it was over for him. And then he was just gone... Just like that... By my own hand."

Her voice is barely above a whisper by now. Folding her hands over her lap, in hopes they'd finally stop trembling, she looks up at his face again.

"Just like that."

She could swear there's a bit of empathy in his eyes. He sighs, defeated, moving closer and hesitating a little before reaching for her hands.

His strong grip is more than enough to stop them from shaking.

"First time is tough like that. It's normal. The way you feel, it's normal. All of it. Just don't let it consume you. You have to do whatever you must to keep the voices in your head at bay... It's hard at first. But you'll be alright. I don't doubt that for a second."

He loosens his grip on her hands, and she's surprised to see that the shaking has subsided considerably.

She looks down at her lap again, at the blood stains on her skirt, but he's quick to grab her attention.

"Hey."

Meeting his eyes again, she takes another deep breath.

Her heart skips a beat.

There's the ghost of a smile on his face.

"I'm  _proud_  of you. So is Scott."

For some reason, those words bring a little light to chase away the darkness building up inside.

Enough for her to find the strength and raise an eyebrow, use a teasing voice.

"And my question about Flint's men is answered now, I suppose."

He just keeps her eyes, right hand resting on her knee, and she can't really tell whether he's amused or uncomfortable.

Even in her current state, her mind still so dizzy from recent events; nearly losing Scott, her first real kill, all the stress from the cannon shots and the Charles Town ordeal, she's already pushing her brain to work.

She thought everything would be easy again, once she managed to win back Flint's good graces. But now that she did so, things are even more of a mess.

_And she's alone_.

But she knows exactly where to start; organize her goals, the primary ones, then start working on whatever came next.

And right now, her main concern is getting home alive. Meeting up with her father, with Underhill, and letting them know about everything that went on with Flint, so that they can make a decision together.

_Fuck-_

She nearly lets her sudden distress show, barely managing to keep her features neutral while Charles is still trying to decipher her.

_She'll have to betray **Flint?**_

It's a terrifying thought, but she's mortified to realize it actually  _hurts_.

It shouldn't matter, but just thinking about the possibility brings her a great deal of pain.

Is he this important to her? To an emotional level? He was always nothing more than a formidable ally, someone whose wits she admired greatly, but that's all... Right?

Why does this anxiety resembles the way she felt when she was forced to lie to Scott?

Swallowing hard, she does her best to clear her thoughts.

Priorities.

_Home._

Staying with Flint is out of the question. She barely recognized him out there, he had this almost crazed glint in his eyes. That loss must have been a tough blow, and she has a feeling his grieving process will be far from quiet and calm.

The destruction of Charles Town was probably just the beginning.

She has no idea what to expect from this darker side of him, so it wouldn't be too wise to trust him right now. If he suspects anything, he could very well try and get rid of her.

No, she needs to get home alive, in one piece, and she knows very well what her best bet is.

It only took her a few seconds to go through all that conflict and make that decision.

Smiling softly, she brings her arms around his neck. He's still standing right in front of her body as she sits on the surface of the table, and her actions bring him even closer.

_This time, he doesn't even try to resist._

Their lips meet halfway.

One arm goes around her waist while he tightens his grip on her knee, pulling it to the side so he could step between her legs.

Then he's pulling her flush against his body,

a low groan escaping her throat at the contact. His tongue takes advantage of her parted lips immediately, sweeping into her mouth as she tangled up fingers in his unruly hair.

When the need to catch her breath becomes too intense to be ignored, she breaks the kiss. Still holding onto him as if he was the only thing keeping her from drowning in a stormy sea, she keeps his gaze.

That particular look in his eyes is usually enough to scare the shit out of her, all the emotions swimming in those blue depths so overwhelming, somehow foreign and familiar at the same time.

It was often enough to make her look away.

_This time, it isn't._

One of her hands leaves his hair, her palm coming to his cheek instead. Her thumb strokes his cheekbone lovingly and she lets the briefest of smiles grace her still parted lips for a precious second.

The gesture hits hard, effectively, his walls crumbling down just like the buildings in Charlestown. It's clear as the light of the day, and it sends a wave of excitement and triumph to her heart.

As easy as it always was... Only a way to secure her safe passage back home. Nothing more.

_But it **isn't**._

The urge to touch him, to feel him, warm and  _alive,_  is too strong to be merely a part of her plans. And like it or not, she's more aware of that with each passing second.

Flint is safe.  _She_  is safe, thanks to Charles, for not trying to subdue Scott and the others.

_**He**  is safe._

Despite her anger, part of her cannot believe what just happened today. What they all did together. A whole town is burning, they defied all odds, and she knows she shouldn't be happy like the rest of them. They're on opposite sides of this war now, she  _knows_ , but she just can't help it.

It was fucking glorious; she cannot keep her heart from beating faster or her eyes from glinting with wonder.

And it is now dark outside. Night has come, they're all alive, she's not at Jenks' mercy. The others are all either asleep or celebrating like crazy on the decks of both ships, and she is so relieved and happy and grateful.

And hell, so damn hot, she'd be unable to stop even if she wanted to.

That love-struck look on his face soon gives place to a predatory, lustful one. One of his hands slide up her back, pulling at her hair purposefully and tilting her head backwards in the process.

The arm still around her waist pulls her impossibly closer, she can feel him staining against his pants, pressed right to her core. A quiet moan escapes her lips, eliciting a groan from him as he rolled his hips against hers repeatedly, barely managing to restrain himself by now.

It's primitive, raw, possessive, and it shoots desire straight through her veins.

Still keeping a strong hold on her hair, he lets his mouth wander down her neck, leaving hot open mouthed kisses behind. Her eyes fall closed, breathing becoming ragged. She subconsciously places a hand over the healing stab wound he got from Low when he removes his arm from around her waist, and he quickly gets rid of her coat, attacking the buttons on her blouse next. She exhales sharply as the cool night air hits the now exposed, overheated skin, nipples hardening immediately. In less than a second his mouth covers one of the sensitive nubs, teeth capturing it with practiced ease, his scruff rubbing over her skin. His tongue swirls around it, right hand leaving her hair to join the other one on her lower back. He pulls her closer, grinding against her for a few more delicious moments, the mix of sensations getting the best of her.

She actually  _whimpers._

And prays to God above that there's no one standing too close to the door, or they just might be able to hear her.

She's just about to lock her ankles behind his back to keep him in place when he takes a step back.

Instantly missing all the contact, she scowls at him as he raises his head to meet her eyes, bringing a hand up to her face. Middle finger and ring finger caress her chin softly before trailing down her neck, to the valley of her breasts, teasingly slow. Her chest is heaving when he makes it to her stomach, his fingers flirting with her belt and the hem of her skirt.

Anticipation takes her over, his free hand grabbing her hair and tilting her head backwards again.

She'd expected him to tease her at first, but her eyes squeeze shut and surprise mixes with pleasure when those same two fingers slide in easily.

He lets out a low growl, tugging harshly at her hair and bringing her face closer to his. Her eyes snap open, and his are filled with dark warning.

"Don't you dare close your eyes."

She'll never admit out loud; how much she fucking  _loves_  this dominant side of him.

_Probably just as much as he loves hers._

And as much as she'd love to turn the tables already, the feeling of those clever fingers moving in and out of her, probably coated in her wetness by now, his eyes burning into hers, the tight grip on her hair...

Her short, hushed moans filling this cabin that should not be his, the blood from the two monsters they killed staining the floorboards while they're both alive, victorious and drowning in each other. Everything about this moment is so fucking intoxicating, and she doesn't want the spell to be broken.

_At least not too soon._

He curls his fingers just the right way, brushing over that sweet spot inside her while rubbing his palm against her clit. A smirk tugs at his lips when she clasps a hand over her mouth to keep herself from making too much noise and alerting everybody else on the ship.

They all probably have a pretty good guess what's taking place in this cabin right now, but still...

As wonderful as this feels, it's simply not enough, and sometimes it seems he can read her mind during their intimate moments. Just as she's about to voice her wishes, he withdraws his hand. Eyes still fixed on hers, he brings his fingers up to his face, slipping one after the other inside his mouth and sucking softly, humming in satisfaction at her taste. She's sure her eyes darken, she's half a mind of urging him to his knees, silently asking him to put that damn tongue to better use, but that's not what she really needs at this point.

Hurriedly, she pulls his shirt over his head, and she hadn't been meaning to kiss him but her hands seem to have a mind of their own, going to his cheeks and pulling him in. He responds gladly. While nibbling at his lower lip, she lets her fingers trail down his neck and chest, stopping momentarily at the slave mark, before resuming the path down the solid muscles of his abdomen.

That damn belt was always tricky, but she's glad to notice she still has the hang of it, even without having to use her eyes.

While hastily jerking his pants open, she feels him smirking against her lips. He probably finds her desperation funny, but right now, she doesn't care about trying to hide it. The fire, the need, is much stronger.

When she finally touches him, her soft hand running over his length over and over again with a sure grip, he breaks their kiss, groaning and letting his forehead fall to her shoulder.

She's absolutely sure he's watching as she strokes him, his hips rocking into her touch on their own accord.

It gives her a sense of immeasurable power, and she loves it to death.

He finds the strength to let go of the edge of the table after a couple of minutes or so, raising his head again. His eyes are glazed over with lust as he grabs her wrist, stopping her in her "task" before pushing her long skirt out of the way and around her waist.

Her heart skips a beat, he steps closer to her, grabbing a hold of her chin and kissing her roughly. She can't help but moan into his mouth when his tip brushes over the entrance of her wet core, rocking her hips in silent encouragement until he finally entered her in one swift move.

Stars explode behind her closed eyelids, her arms going around his neck as he begins to move, slowly, until he's almost completely left her, before sliding in again just as slowly. It's not nearly enough, for either of them, but they went so long without this, the intimacy, the proximity, and the last four recent encounters did almost nothing to ease the ache inside them.

Tightening her legs around him, she breaks their kiss.

"More." She whispers the demand against his parted lips, barely able to catch herself at the last second and keep the desperate " _please_ " from escaping too.

It would have been too humiliating, she'll die before-

"Not yet." His voice is even deeper and hoarser than usual, sending a shiver down her spine as he moved to kiss her shoulder, teeth scraping over her skin.

"Missed this."

She's barely able to hear the whispered confession, sure he let it slip accidentally, but she's too far gone to tease him about it in any way.

His hands slide over her thighs, her hips, up and down her back as he continues to fuck her slowly, his heavy breathing against her ear making things even worse.

And she knows, deep down, what he's trying to achieve.

Strangely, she's not that opposed to the idea of granting it to him. Not if it means she'll get what she so desperately needs.

" _Charles_." She whines, tugging on his hair. It's as close as she'll ever get to actually begging, no matter how desperate she is. They both know that.

And this time, he obeys her wishes just like he always tended to do.

With a growl, he jerks his hips into hers, hard. All breath leaves her lungs as she cries out loudly.  _Too_  loudly, but he just keeps going, the cabin filling with the all too familiar sounds of skin slapping against skin as he takes her with rough, deep strokes.

She just knows this is one of the things he always loved the most. This fire she so often brings out in him, the raw, feral desire to possess her, to brand her as his, at least in moments like this one. Cause they both always knew that once she left, she'd belong to no one but herself again.

But does it really matter, if they've successfully branded each other's souls by now?

He tugs at her hair, making her tilt her head to the side this time, giving him access to her neck. He immediately attacks it, biting, nipping and sucking mercilessly, surely leaving bruises behind.

_His mark_.

She can't bring herself to care, or even to try and keep quiet. His skin is now slick with sweat under her fingers. Between grunts, growls, moans and short cries, they can't hear what's going on out there anymore.

He's pumping in and out of her harder and faster than before, setting the delicious, unforgiving pace she just knows she'll never get enough of.

Noticing the sweat trailing down her own chest and stomach, she lets go of him and leans back, bracing herself on her elbows and letting him use her body however he saw fit.

She eventually ends up on her back, completely, one hand gripping the edge of the table beside her head, the other flying to touch his abdomen when he started to thumb her clit expertly.

Gasping for breath, she digs her nails into the skin right below his chest, bringing her hand all the way down to his navel. Satisfied to see the five angry red marks marring his abdomen, she meets his eyes again.

All the stimulation, the half smirk on his lips, it's suddenly too much.

She's about to fall, and she knows him well enough to know he's close too, and her release will trigger his. After somehow mustering up the strength to shake her head slightly, one of the old signals she used to give to let him know he shouldn't finish inside, she finally tumbles over that sweet edge.

His name probably leaves her lips in the midst of the breathy cries and incoherent cursing, but she doesn't care.

_She just hopes he got the damn message-_

His loud grunt and the sudden feeling of emptiness bring her back to earth. With a pang of relief, she feels the hot spurts all over her stomach, her chest heaving, eyes glued to the wooden ceiling.

It's as if real life comes flooding the cabin again like a wave, they can now hear the men outside, the cheering, the games, the shanties.

Faintly, she realizes they're moving.

Of course, he gave the order for his men to sail this thing away as soon as they were done with what remained of the city.

Flint's ship is probably cutting through the waves by their side too.

He grabs her waist, pulling her into a sitting position again, and flush against him.

His nose is buried in her hair. Already worried about her dignity again, she tries to listen, to tell whether the men heard them or not, but it's impossible. The celebrations outside just sound like any other night back home, and as she closes her eyes, the only thing she can really hear is him, breathing against her ear.

* * *

After all the troubles from earlier, it's nice that at least the seas are calm.

The soft, steady rise and fall of the ship faintly reminds her of the rocking of a crib.

The creaking wood has long ceased to be annoying, she's learning to enjoy this peculiar lullaby as much as the familiarity of the waves breaking against the hull outside.

There are still voices filtering in from the deck. She can hear some of the men working, others laughing drunkenly and singing sea shanties. They must even have some makeshift instruments; and whatever the objects are, they create a decent melody.

The afterglow has passed now, they've probably been lying together in the bunk for more than an hour. Their sweat has dried, their hearts resuming a normal pace, their breathing has calmed down.

And yet, she just can't seem to snap out of this calm, happy state of mind she's in.

_She should be fucking **pissed.**_

The feelings of euphoria that had reached her during their heated encounter on the desk earlier have now morphed into this sated bliss, this peace of mind.

This strong feeling that she  _belongs_  here.

Here, basking in this comforting relief, in the wake of one hell of a victory.

Killing an enemy with her own bare hands. Fiercely -  _loyally_  - protecting a loved one. Shouting orders at a band of pirates, ordering them to bomb a damn jetty and watching as they obeyed. Observing as an entire town burned, after its governor dared to mess with one of theirs-

She's not  _one_  of them, not anymore.

Or at least that's what she keeps trying to tell herself, the voice so meek and insignificant in her mind for now.

For now, while they're sailing away from all the chaos they left in their wake, victorious, and she's lying here in the arms of this man, listening to an enchanting mix of sea shanties, creaking wood and crashing waves, she can't help but feel as if she belongs. This is where she's really meant to be. It's good, it's familiar, it's...

_It's her._

It feels as if this is her place.

Here.

Not among a group of handsome men, pretty wives, and rosy-cheeked children.

Here.

_This._

"Whatever it is you're planning now... If our interests still differ... Be aware I won't protect you from him."

She sighs, deep and slow. Her fingers are playing with a few strands of his hair, absentmindedly, as she rests her head on his chest.

He's lying on his back, fingers tracing invisible patterns on her hip, her arm, then moving to caress her hair before going back to her hip over and over again in a slow, calm, endless loop.

She can practically hear the words he doesn't say out loud, the ones he's probably thinking about right now.

_I don't have the guts or the heart to get rid of you myself, but if he tries, I won't stand in his way._

Does she even believe that? Does  _he?_

"I'm well aware."

_Is she?_

Shifting a little in his arms, -  _moving impossibly closer_  - she splays her hand over the slave mark. Her thumb caresses his skin softly and she raises her head from his chest, meeting his eyes.

"But there will be no need."

She hopes he's too tired. Too sated. She hopes the cabin is too dark and the look on her face convincing enough.

But in the end, he doesn't seem convinced nor suspicious.

His face is neutral aside from that little hint of love in his eyes, and she presses an unhurried kiss to his lips before resting her head on his chest again.

He heaves a sigh, reaching for the blanket and pulling it over their bodies.

Her legs tangle with his, he locks his hands on her hip, holding her safely.

A few more minutes go by in silence.

"Charles?" Her voice is quiet, unnaturally calm. He merely hums in question, and she lets her fingers close around the leather adorning his neck.

"I want to go home."

At first, she thinks he won't even acknowledge her request.

In the end, he presses a kiss to the top of her head, arms tightening around her momentarily.

"As you wish."

Her eyes fall closed, a smile gracing her lips.

To the steady sound of his heartbeat, she drifts off into sleep.

* * *

**_Five days later_ **

The fever has  _finally_  broken.

Still unable to believe it, Flint leans back in his chair, eyes fixed to the book in his hands.

This morning, he realized John's temperature was back to normal.

He's not mumbling nonsense anymore, and now it's probably just a matter of time before that insufferable creature is awake again, pestering him endlessly.

But any distraction is more than welcome to help keep his mind off the last few days.

When Scott first took him to see John, he was unable to comprehend all the anger coursing through his system.

The man was unconscious, Lowell had just finished his job, and he immediately found himself asking whether John would make it or not.

There was no way to tell, the answer was probably yes... It all depended on his body and his strength to fight. but Lowell had done everything he could.

He'd nodded at the crew member. It was a surprise for everyone, including himself, when he asked to be left alone with John.

He carried the poor bastard himself, all the way here.

He's been sleeping on an uncomfortable pile of blankets for the past five nights, waking up every couple of hours to cross the cabin and check up on John.

The fever started a few hours after the emergency procedure, getting worse overnight.

By sunrise, he had to call Lowell.

John had yet to wake up, but he kept trashing around and mumbling nonsense, features contorted into a never ending grimace of pain.

He wanted to try and shake him awake, but didn't know whether that would be wise or not.

Lowell had suggested that they moved John to his own accommodations, so that he could keep an eye on him.

_"You seem exhausted, captain."_

Flint promptly refused, merely asking for instructions and promising to seek him out in case things got worse.

The second day was uneventful. High fever all day long, some incoherent mumbling here and there. He had to remove the bandages and clean the wound. His stomach churned, and it surprised the hell out of him. He'd seen worse shit before, it had never fazed him this much. His relief was huge when he was done, dressing John's leg with clean bandages.

The third day, he started to get worried.

That bastard had yet to show any signs of waking up. He was getting pale as a ghost, sweating profusely and trembling all over.

That was probably the worst night too.

He was startled awake by cries of agony, immediately jumping to his feet and rushing to the bunk.

He'd gotten used to the hushed moans and whimpers, but that was nearly a scream, and he didn't think twice before sitting on the bunk and reaching for John's wrist to check his pulse.

What was his surprise when that cold hand shot up to grab his, with a strong, sure grip, despite the shaking still taking the wounded man over.

In the dark, he thought he saw those blue eyes opening briefly.

_"James-"_

It's been haunting him constantly.

His name, his real name, a helpless, desperate whisper escaping those dry lips.

Almost like a cry for help.

He wondered if the man was conscious, to a certain degree.

He wondered if the pain was so intense, it kept John trapped in some sort of limbo, keeping him from the reality.

He wondered, faintly, if his presence had the power to pull him from that limbo. After all, John had uttered his name as if he was a saving grace in the middle of a world of agony and chaos.

Too much free time. He's been having too much free time... time to  _think_. Time alone with his demons.

It's never a good thing. Especially not  _now_.

The fourth day, John was strangely still.

No trashing around, no whimpering, no moans or cries of agony.

He was still burning up.

They'd reached dry land, and he went ashore with Charles in search of news about their home, leaving John under Lowell's care.

But that night, the wounded man kept opening and closing his unfocused eyes and trying to move, which kept Flint awake the entire time. He ended up sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the bunk, and during a rare, quiet few minutes of peace sometime after four in the morning, his eyes fluttered shut.

_When he opened them again, it was to a tiny room with grey walls instead of a pitiful cabin in a pitiful vessel. He was sitting on a bed with messy sheets, and the agonizing creature behind him had given place to a blonde man with the gentlest eyes he'd ever seen._

_His heart clenches as Thomas looks up from the book, offering him a kind smile. He moves forward, placing a hand over his heart. It seems to chase away all the tension from the past few days, all the darkness, all the despair._

_All the **fear.**_

_Thomas says something, but his words never register. When their lips meet, he's jerking awake with a sharp intake of air._

The first lights of dawn are now filtering in through the windows, and he turns his head hastily to check up on John. He's too silent, maybe the worst has happened-

Flint was unable to believe his own eyes.

The wounded man's face was completely peaceful, his chest rising and falling steadily as he breathed.

Such a peaceful slumber.

His hand shook slightly as he placed it over John's forehead.

A surprised, brief laugh escaped his lips.

The fever was gone.

Remembering all of that, he sits there in silence, eyes skimming over the words in his book.

_Five days._

Five days watching this man like a hawk, making sure he was breathing, cleaning his wound, forcing food and water down his throat at least three times a day.

Five days enduring the stress of having that life in his hands and still needing to command a ship, take care of the rest of the men and be present each time a decision needed to be made.

_He could have just left him with Lowell._

From the very first day. It would have saved him so much of a headache, all those restless nights.

Still, he cannot bring himself to regret any of it.

There's some slight rustling from the bunk, and he turns his head just in time to see John raising himself on his elbows.

His eyes are open but not at all unfocused this time, and for a moment, they simply stare at each other.

As he rises from his seat, calmly making his way over to the bunk, John sits up fully with some difficulty. His confused eyes stare out the nearest window.

"Where are we?"

"Just south of Inagua. Winds blew us east. We stopped off in Tortuga, to refit and garner news... Of which there was plenty." Filling a mug and offering it to John, he waits a few seconds.

"Richard Guthrie's been arrested. Currently on his way back to London, in the custody of Her Majesty's Navy to stand trial." He pulls a chair to the bunk's side, sitting down and keeping John's eyes. "For the first time since I've known it, there is no Guthrie in Nassau. Not until she returns there-"

"Where is she? Does she know?"

Heaving a sigh, Flint leans forward in his seat.

"She doesn't. She's still in Tortuga. With Vane. As soon as we found out, we discussed and came to the agreement that it was best to keep those news from her. Plan is to wait until Richard's out of reach, so she will have no choice but to back down. Possibly join us in our fight."

" _Join_  us." John tries to scoff out the words, but it seems he simply doesn't have the strength.

It's an amusing sight.

"One gets used to a state of affairs for such a long time, it's easy to forget that they're all just transitions. Specks of dust suspended in the air until a strong enough gust comes along and rearranges everything..." John seems to be half listening to his words, his features contorting into a grimace again. He takes a few deep breaths. "A strong gust has come to this place. The men can feel it. Know it will upset everything they thought they understood just a few days ago..."

Leaning back on his seat, he waits until John meets his eyes again.

"They'll need to lean on something solid. On the men who can reassure them that in times like these, there are some things that can be counted on. They'll look to me for that. But they'll also look to their new quartermaster."

_Now **that's**  enough to grab his attention._

"They voted?"

Flint can't help but offer him a half smile.

"A few days ago. I think the men wanted to tell you when you awoke, so try and act surprised."

He gets to his feet, smiling fully this time. John lowers his eyes for a moment.

"It's a funny thing. The more those men need you, the more you need them. And it drives us to do the most unexpected things."

He turns around, starting to walk away from the bunk and towards the door.

Now that John's awake, he should probably have a decent meal-

"There's something you ought to know before we reach Nassau. About what we'll likely face there."

His frown comes automatically. He stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder.

"Before my... misfortune at the hands of Vane's lieutenant, our friend, the scout you sent to oversee the Urca beach, confessed something to me. He told me that the news he brought us about the gold having been recovered... was a lie."

His eyes narrow. Taking a step closer, he swallows hard.

"A falsehood he perpetuated himself so that he could sell the gold's location to another crew in exchange for a larger share of the prize."

Heart starting to beat faster, fueled by an awakening anger, he makes his way back to the bunk.

"He told you this? He lied to us all... And then he sold the information to another crew... so that they could retrieve the gold?"

John keeps his eyes for a few moments; he seems to be having some trouble controlling his breathing, but Flint assumes it's just a consequence from the pain.

"Yes." He finally answers, his eyes squeezing shut.

Jaw and fists clenching in anger, Flint seethes through gritted teeth.

"Who the fuck did he sell it to?"

* * *

**_Nassau_ **

"Where have you been? What took you so long?"

Jack lets out a brief, hollow laugh. The look on Anne's face only makes her anxiety even worse.

"The information we were given was  _incomplete_ , at best. There were still healthy Spanish soldiers on that beach, and they fought... like  _hell_."

Heart sinking, Max keeps her eyes lowered for a moment longer.

She knew something would go wrong, it was simply too good to be true-

A familiar shape catches her attention when she looks at the ocean.

"Is that the Walrus?"

"It is. We found her there. Needed to get her seaworthy before we could depart."

There's a proud half smirk on Anne's tired face by now. Her confusion only grows.

Looking between the two of them, Max frowns, eager for some answers already.

"You needed to? Why would you need a second ship?"

"We needed the hold space."

His words immediately bring an ember of hope to her heart again, but she refuses to acknowledge it just yet.

_It can't be._

After a beat of silence, Jack narrows his eyes at her.

"Would you like to see something shiny?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew!
> 
> Between all three of my stories, this has got to be the longest chapter I have ever written.
> 
> I'm aware it's been taking me forever to update my stories, and I'm sorry about that. I've just been insanely busy lately. But hopefully this eventful, monster of a chapter will make it up for the long wait :-)
> 
> I also know there are Empires readers here, and don't worry! I'm nearly finished with chapter 68, it should be published in a week or so! I had a bit of writer's block for some parts, while this one was flowing easily, so I just went ahead and focused on When the Sea Calls instead.
> 
> Oh, and speaking of Empires, you guys! Recently a wonderful author decided to start a new story about our beloved couple of idiots, inspired by my reincarnation AU! The basic idea is the same, but the rest is very original, and I genuinely love everything about the plot so far. There's criminal Charles, criminal Eleanor, Ranger crew awesomeness and delicious conflict/sexual tension already, so be sure to check it out! The story is called "Fated", by DeathlySweet, and I would appreciate it if you guys could go give her some love. I'm sure some feedback will encourage her to give us more of her amazing chapters!
> 
> Okay, so the next few chapters will be the time between seasons 2 and 3, as I said before. I won't be following any episodes' script, just focusing on the adjustments that need to be made for Eleanor to be in Nassau instead of in Rogers' custody (can we get an amen? lol), and certain relationships. I also need my babies to be in - relative - peace for a while, after all this chaos. So expect some fluff, hotness and a punch or two here and there ;-)
> 
> I just can't believe I'm finally done with this chapter.
> 
> And oh, I was so happy when I realized I'd be able to keep Randall alive XD


	9. New Life

**Chapter 9: New Life**

_Build high the walls,_

_Build strong the beams,_

_A new life is waiting,_

_But danger's no stranger here_

* * *

**Tortuga**

Heavy footsteps echo through the narrow corridor. Charles never loses the scowl. It's been on his face for the past half an hour or so, and he has no plans to stop sulking anytime soon.

They've been here for a little over two days now, and despite the generous amount recently acquired, he was just unable to stay put.

While spending some time in one of the taverns last night he heard interesting conversations, sailors too drunk to keep their voice down, about quite the appealing prize.

Sugar, brazilwood and with some luck, gold. Three ships from South America, headed towards Philadelphia.

He was, from the very beginning, well aware that the captains could decide to avoid this area. But his excitement spoke louder, and when Flint showed up here again at first light -  _something about procuring extra medicine for that poor bastard's leg_  - they started making plans together already.

They decided to gather some more information, retrieve the man o war back home and go hunt those treasures down.

Until they learned their initial lead was a bit overdue.

As it turned out the ships did avoid this area, stopping at the Carolina colony to re-supply two weeks ago, which means they've probably reached their destination by now.

It successfully ruined his mood. Not to mention how fucking mad Eleanor got when she learned about his plans. He's not looking forward to being in the same cabin as her again.

Hesitating at the door, he remembers this morning, shortly before he went ashore to dig for information with Flint.

.

_After last night's promising findings, he came back to the ship at around four in the morning, finding her sound asleep in the bunk. She'd surely wake up if he tried to lie down by her side, and he wasn't in the mood for her eye rolls and mumbled curses, so he decided to just take the hammock._

_When dawn broke, - he was unable to catch any sleep those couple of hours, excitement coursing through his system - Eleanor was quick to express her displeasure about her far from perfect appearance._

_Her hair has not seen a brush since they left Nassau, and now that all the chaos is behind them, she is becoming increasingly more aware of her disheveled state._

_"You would not happen to have a hairbrush..." She trails off, knowing he's awake too, and he scoffs lightly from the hammock._

_His eyes remain closed._

_"Well, a ribbon, at least?"_

_Her growing irritation is clear, so he heaves a sigh before getting off the hammock and heading to stand behind the desk._ _He remembered seeing a long scarf in one of the drawers; a delicate, burgundy colored one._

_Faintly, Charles wonders whether it once belonged to one of Low's many victims, or if he ever had a special someone in his life._

_Even monsters may fall in love. No one escapes this damn curse._

_"Will this do?" His voice is still extra rough from sleep as he lifts the scarf in his fingers and her only answer is to close the distance to the desk._

_Her fingers brush against his as she takes the scarf from him. He watches her closely, she nods to herself after gathering her hair on a messy bun and tying it._

_He just can't resist._

_Eleanor's shoulders are stiff when his fingers come up to brush a few wayward strands behind her ear. His voice is barely above a whisper._

_"Think I like it better loose."_

_It's the first time he touches her_ _since the night of their victory in Charles Town a week ago._

_She's at a loss for words for a moment, then she composes herself, slapping his hand away._

_"Like I give a flying fuck."_

_A half smirk comes to his face as he watches her turn around and return to the bunk._

_He knows her, far too well. He noticed her excitement that wonderful night, her bright eyes and racing heart giving her away. She fucking loved that adventure of theirs. She loved the danger, she loved the thrill, she loved the power. Just as he always knew she would._

_All those intense feelings probably reminded her of who she truly is, and she was conflicted as hell in the aftermath._

_That's why she kept to herself this last week, not saying a word to him, unless it was absolutely necessary, and refusing to get too close._

_Charles respected her._

_But all the while, he found himself hoping she would lose that raging battle against her goals and plans for the future. He found himself hoping this whole ordeal would be enough to open her eyes, make her see the truth and realize whose side she's meant to take in the upcoming war._

_Whenever it comes._

_And then they arrived at Tortuga and he was ecstatic to learn about Richard's fate._ _After all, their endeavor at Charles Town would probably not have been enough to sway her._

_But **this**  surely will._

_"My clothes..." She begins, completely clueless about his musings. There is a grimace on her face as she fingers the fabric of her skirts. There's grime. Sweat. It's been nearly two weeks. They smell... I feel absolutely disgusting."_

_He can't help but chuckle._

_"There is a large crate filled with women's clothing down in our cargo hold. I imagine some of the pieces might fit you. But everything is..."_

_He shakes his head and Eleanor narrows her eyes._

_"What?"_

_"It's just not the sort of clothing you would usually wear."_

_With a scoff, she reaches for that stupid book she's become so fond of._ _"At this point, I could walk around in Anne's clothes. Just need something fresh, that's all."_

_Immediately, his mind conjures a very clear picture of her in Anne's clothes, and he nearly laughs out loud._

_What a curious sight that would be._

_"I'll bring the crate up here, then."_

_"I could also really use a bath." Her voice stops him as he's about to walk out the door, and he raises an eyebrow._

_"Just wait here and I'll bring you the clothes, a wash basin with water and a sponge... Or rags. Whichever I find first."_

_She's not pleased in the slightest with that answer, and he looks over his shoulder as she scoffs in disdain._

_"Unless you feel like saving me the trouble? Ocean's the world's largest bathtub and_ _I'd be glad to throw you overboard._ _Choice is all yours."_

_As soon as Charles closes the door behind him, there's a dull thud as something hits the wood from the other side. He can only assume she threw one of her shoes at it, and a smirk comes to his face._

.

Once Her Royal Highness had her fresh clothes and the wash basin, he decided to tell her about the lead and his and Flint's plans. She was livid, but he just left her raging in the cabin and went ashore again in search of more news.

Now he's here, standing in front of the door he managed to fix during their journey. Empty handed and frustrated as hell.

Must have been a curse of hers. He wouldn't doubt it.

With a heavy sigh, he finally turns the doorknob.

The sight he's greeted with makes him stop in his tracks.

She's completely bare, standing in front of the small table and looking at the stained mirror hanging on the wall. As soon as he comes in, she snaps her head in his direction, startled. But she relaxes upon seeing it's just him, not one of his men.

Her hair is loose again now. The burgundy scarf did contrast nicely with the paleness of her skin and hair, but he's a sucker for those golden curls. Her wet skin glistens, droplets of water trailing down the valley of her breasts.

Immediately feeling his pants tighten, he breaks eye contact first and makes his way to one of the windows behind the desk.

"Don't stop on my account."

Even though he has his back to her now, he's sure she's rolling her eyes.

For a minute or so, he just stares out the window, watching the beach and the chaotic town. It grew considerably since the last time he came here, a real haven for their kind.

_Just like home._

Giving in to the temptation, Charles turns around and leans his back against the wall, crossing his arms.

His eyes soften as he watches her.

The wash basin is placed on the surface of that small table and she dips the sponge into the water, squeezing it out a bit before scrubbing it up one arm and down the other.

He lets his eyes travel every little inch, from her head to her feet and then up again, lingering on those perfect butt cheeks.

If his heartbeat increases, he does his best to ignore it.

"What happened to your prize?"

Her tone is sour. He frowns briefly, having forgotten all about said prize from the moment he entered the cabin.

Strangely, most of his irritation has evaporated by now.

"Lead was overdue."

There's a beat of silence, and she dips the sponge into the water again.

He can practically hear the smirk in her voice.

"Good."

For some reason, the corners of his lips twitch up too.

But then his eyes drop to the pieces of clothing resting atop the crate, waiting to be worn. And he can't help but scowl.

She picked out a deep blue skirt and bodice. And she always looks delicious in blue. Like always, the color will only highlight the beauty of her eyes and hair, yet he's not at all eager to see her in those clothes.

She will look just like one of them.

With a brief shake of his head, Charles does his best to keep his voice neutral.

"As you know, the sails need some repairs. We will linger here for the next three days before we can go home, so I thought..." She turns around to meet his eyes, and reaches for the white shift resting on the crate. He takes a step forward and she holds the fabric to her chest, her eyes wary. "...we could spend the remainder of our time here in a more comfortable ambient. I found a decent inn last night, took a look at the services they have to offer."

She's frowning a little, but he has her full attention.

"Would be nice, don't you think? A real bed instead of a hammock or a narrow bunk. Change of scenario. I've a significant amount now, from the kid's ransom. Could even buy you a nice, warm bath. Better food and more... comfortable clothes."

She lowers her eyes, turning her back to him and taking a look at the mirror. He basks in the sight of her naked body for one last second before the shift hides it from his view.

Facing him again, Eleanor watches with parted lips as he makes his way around the desk. There's a faint hint of amusement in her voice when she speaks.

"Is that a peace offering?"

Even though her body is covered now, he's sure he still has that predatory glint in his eyes. Sitting on the bunk, he flashes her a half smirk.

"Whatever it is, you had me at ' _warm bath_ '."

He chuckles briefly, but his eyes harden as she reaches for another piece of clothing.

Silk, black over the knee stockings.

She sits down in the nearest chair, beginning what he knows is going to be a long process.

White, woven designs decorate the ankles. The stockings are fine, classy, nothing like the ones she owns. And Charles hates them.

She ties ribbon garters just above her knees, securing the stockings. A cream colored petticoat that reaches to her knees comes next. He knows this piece is worn merely for modesty, and his eye roll is automatic.

_Who the **fuck**  does she think she's fooling?_

He knows she's probably figuring this out as she goes. It's the first time she ever wears this sort of clothing, but perhaps she learned a bit in the past, from watching her mother.

He once saw a small portrait of Caroline, among her belongings. It was dusty, forgotten in the depths of a drawer in the office. But whoever drew it, they made an exquisite job.

The resemblance was striking, and the woman was dressed just like a high class lady from the old world.

She pauses and stares at the various garments before her, unsure how to proceed for a moment. Her eyes meet his briefly, then she hesitantly reaches for the stay.

It takes all his willpower not to jump to his feet, cross the short distance to her and yank the damn thing right out of her grasp.

When she reaches behind her back and begins to tighten the strings, he notices how much effort it takes her not to grimace. Her bosom is accentuated and her waist becomes narrower with each pull. Her posture is impeccably straight when she's done. She tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably.

She decides to forego the hip pads, and at least that's a small relief.

Next comes those heavy blue skirts. Her narrow waist is emphasized; he can't take his eyes off of her. She looks absolutely stunning, but it actually makes him want to throw up.

By the time she's done tightening the strings that held the fronts of the bodice together, Charles just has to clench his jaw.

"You're done?"

His tone is sour, and of course, she notices.

At first, she ignores him, staring at what she could see of her body in the small mirror. Her eyebrows furrow together, and he can hear her inner conflicts clearly in his mind.

For a few moments, he watches as she silently tries to convince herself that she likes the clothes.

"...yes."

He's not certain whether she succeeds or not.

* * *

**St. Augustine**

Unable to quite comprehend those strong feelings of trepidation, Billy hesitates at the door. They finally made it to this town last night and he spent the last five hours looking for information, news from Charles Town and the fate its inhabitants encountered.

More specifically, one particular inhabitant.

Just as he expected, it was absolutely grim.

_That poor girl..._

She's been holding it together while he's around to see it, having worn a blank, neutral mask for most of their journey.

The last seven days, they traveled southwest, just as he'd planned, only exchanging a few words every day. He would stop the coach whenever they came across the occasional small village, for food and fresh water. Abigail insisted on selling some of the jewelry she had in her suitcase in order to pay for the supplies. One night, they managed to stay at a rather dubious inn on the side of a rather dubious road, but luckily, everything was okay in the end.

The other nights, they just camped.

Abigail slept inside the coach and he stood guard outside, barely managing to catch a few hours of sleep on the driver's seat each night.

Yet, somehow, he doesn't feel tired. He suspects he won't be able to rest until this whole ordeal is behind him.

Whatever the aftermath is.

Luckily, he found a good inn, shortly after they made it to St. Augustine. It was the only place he felt confident about, but there was only one room available. So he sold the two horses and the coach to pay for their stay for the next week.

The next ship to Nassau leaves in a week, after all, and for now this is all he can do. While Abigail makes up her mind.

Part of him actually hopes she'll decide to leave her old life behind for good and follow him home.

He must be going fucking insane.

Shaking his head softly, he opens the door.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, combing her hair carefully. She's been wearing a complete outfit, stay included, since yesterday. Propriety's sake, since they were forced to sleep in the same room.

He can't even begin to imagine how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in those clothes. She can barely breath in deep with that damn thing.

"Whatever it is, I believe I can handle it."

Abigail's voice brings him back to reality, and he realizes he's been standing there at the doorway for a few moments, just staring at her.

Her eyes are red and puffy, she was surely crying in his absence. Briefly, he wishes he had better news to give her. But that is not the case.

Closing the door behind him, Billy tries his very best to think of a less harsh way to say it.

There's none.

"Your father is dead. So is the vast majority of the population. Only a lucky few managed to escape the town, but no one got out unharmed."

He sees her swallowing hard. Tears spring to her eyes and her lower lip trembles, but she never breaks

"The mansion was destroyed. They said some of the walls collapsed, and the insides caught fire... Too much wooden furniture. Several bodies were found buried in the ashes and debris, but they're all carbonized and torn to pieces. Therefore impossible to be identified. And since you never made it to Savannah, people are assuming you were still in the mansion when it happened. They're assuming you're dead too. I heard Alfred Ashford has already expressed his grief over the loss... Your fiancee, right?"

"Not anymore, it seems."

Even though she still looks depressed and anxious, he detects the faintest hint of relief in her voice.

At least something good came out of all of this.

"That place was supposed to be my home and I have nothing else left in there. I lost everything."

Her voice breaks. Billy rushes to the bed, crouching down to be at eye level with her. The pile of hay he slept in last night is right behind him, and he forces a kind smile.

"I know how you feel... I've been there too. Losing everything; not knowing who you are anymore. It  _does_  mess with our head, doesn't it?"

A tear escapes her right eye and she delicately wipes it away.

"You do not need to help me."

"Well, I did give you my word, didn't I?"

This time, she keeps eye contact. For a moment, he thinks she'll smile back at him, but the pain of learning about her father's demise is just too fresh for now.

His thoughts fly to a certain someone.

"You see... I lost my father too. Pretty recently. So I feel your pain... I  _share_  it. He wasn't my real father, but still..."

Abigail tilts her head to the side, eyes still red. But the tears have stopped, he's glad to notice.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"He was killed by... someone."

That seems to be enough for her and she nods softly. Silence reigns for a while.

"How do you think my father died? From the cannon shots? Perhaps a building collapsing on top of him?"

"There's no way for us to know. I guess we never will." He forces another smile. Her eyes still hold an immense amount of sadness and he barely refrains himself from reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. "Believe me... It's better like that."

She captures her lower lip between her teeth, considering his words. There seems to be something troubling her, and before he can even ask about it, she's speaking again.

"Why did you do it? You said you intended to remove me from harm's way. You also said you learned I would be leaving for Savannah. You could have just returned to the ship, I would have been safe. Away from the town. What on earth drove you to kill that coachman, take those reins and... Bring me here?"

He watches her face, lips slightly parted. That caught him off guard, and as much as he'd love to answer, he doesn't have a clue what to say. So for a long, awkward while, there's nothing but silence.

Billy's eyes are lowered to his hands when he finally finds the words he deems appropriate enough.

"Perhaps I wanted to keep you away from any form of danger? Not only the cannon shots and the crumbling buildings." She frowns in question. He looks up at her face again. "Eleanor told me about the arranged marriage. She told me how unhappy you were about it. And it was none of my business, but you're such a good kid... It wouldn't be fair."

"I don't feel like a child anymore."

Abigail fidgets with the fabric of her skirts, nervously, and only then he realizes he's moved closer to her.

How it even happened, he has no fucking idea.

But he clears his throat, moving away and sitting on the pile of hay.

"For someone who... grew up sheltered, no offense-"

"None taken."

"...you're actually pretty tough. Handling all of this far better than I'd expected you to. Not to mention what you did back on the Fancy."

He's satisfied to see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"I was surprised too."

"Didn't know you had it in you, huh?"

"Not at all."

She breaks eye contact. A blush creeps onto her cheeks and he can't help but smile wide.

"I guess this is why I admire you." The revelation brings a startled look to her face. She doesn't look at him, but he's not discouraged at all. "Because you are a product of the world I was born in, yet you also have the fire of the world I am now a part of... Coming to think of it, you and I, we have a lot in common."

She looks adorable even when she frowns in confusion.

"The... world you were  _born_  in, you said?"

"What, you think I've always been an outlaw?"

"I meant no-"

"It's alright... And yes, I was originally born in Kensington. Lawful citizen."

She's staring into his eyes again by now, genuinely curious, and he braces himself for the question.

"What happened?"

It was to be expected, of course.

His face hardens for a brief moment, she's visibly concerned and even frightened, and he mentally kicks himself before forcing a reassuring smile.

Better to change the subject. He should have never said a damn thing about this.

"Look, the last thing I want is to pressure you right now. But I need a decision before that ship leaves in a week. You think you can do that?"

"I already have."

There is not the slightest bit of doubt in her tone. She sounds absolutely confident.

"I don't want to go to my fiancee... or... former fiancee, I suppose. My other option would be one of my living relatives, but I don't even know them. And I know what would happen to me. Just like I knew, back in school. I would wake up every day, knowing exactly what I would be doing. What I would be learning. And it was good, at first... It was  _safe_. But after some time, it became painfully tedious. At least... with Nassau, this won't be the case. It will be a blank slate. Something... new and unpredictable." She tries to smile at him. And she nearly succeeds, but not quite. "...and deep down, that is all I ever wanted. Freedom."

_Who is he to deny her **that?**_

Torn between the strangest joy and a nagging anxiety about what this particular turn of events entails, Billy rises back to his normal stature. "Alright... It's an hostile environment, but you end up getting used to it. I'm sure I can get you settled in. Find something you can do for a living."

"I can... knit and sing really well." She offers, and it only makes his concern grow.

What place will a young lady molded by civilization have in the island? She was educated for a completely different world. That place will fucking eat her alive if he doesn't stand in the way.

Not wanting to scare her any further, he nods.

"That's a start... We'll find something. Don't you worry. Whatever happens, you won't be alone."

There's a sudden knock on the door, causing her to jump slightly. He's quick to reassure her.

"There's the bath I bought you now."

She raises an eyebrow, but he's already grabbing his satchel and heading towards the door.

His own bath will be in the river he found a mile away from the outskirts of town, and hopefully during his absence she'll be able to enjoy at least a couple of hours without that damn stay squeezing her poor lungs.

"I'll give you some privacy."

"Thank you."

"Hey?"

She looks up from her fingers, folded across her lap, and up at his face.

"Congratulations. You're a free woman."

.

Her lips part as Billy flashes her a smile, already opening the door and walking out of their room.

Even as the inn servants bring her bath in, even as he vanishes from her sight, Abigail just stares at the doorway, absolutely stunned.

How in the world did she go from  _"good kid"_  to  _"free woman"_  in the same conversation?

Her cheeks burn and she lowers her eyes.

For the first time in an entire week, she smiles.  
-

**Tortuga**

She has to admit it  _is_  a good inn. Possibly the best one in town.

Their room is spacious, the four poster bed just as comfortable as the one in her office.

There is a small balcony and this is where she is now, resting her elbows on the railing and watching the town below.

It's chaos.

The sun is going down and the streets are crawling with the kind of men she's so used to seeing. There are some tents scattered on the beach but Eleanor only recognized a couple banners.

It was strange when they made their way through the crowd earlier, in order to get to the inn. No one opened the way for her, only stepping aside out of respect for Charles. Apparently, they all know who he is. He must have made quite the great entrance with Flint when they first arrived.

And while she's absolutely sure most of them have heard her name as well, they don't know what her face looks like, since she always kept to her own island.

It feels so odd to be away from her domain. She feels exposed and frustrated.

Even though a tiny part of her is still thrilled with all the novelty of this journey. Her eyes sparkled like those of a little girl when they made it to the beach and she saw this new place.

She always wondered what Tortuga looked like. Now here she is, and it gives her such a sense of deja vu. The beach and those streets make her think of the way her home was, years ago.

Apparently, there is no one to whip this place in shape, or no one who cares enough to do so.

Her curious eyes skim over the men below, and she sighs to herself.

For the 100th time, she wonders what could be happening back home right now. Will it be okay without her, until they're finally able to return?

_Your father and Underhill are taking care of everything... It will be alright._

That nagging anxiety comes back, and she does her best to ignore it.

It always comes when she thinks of her father. She can't understand why.

"Silver is awake."

That deep voice brings her back from her thoughts and she looks up at his face.

Scott stopped by to pay her a visit when he learned Charles brought her ashore. This is the first time they're able to simply enjoy each other's company in a while, and she knows she should cherish every second.

That's why she pushes all those worries to the back of her mind.

_Just for now._

"Oh? And here I thought he was not going to make it."

"Are you not going to ask how he's doing?"

"I don't care."

He chuckles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His elbows are resting on the railing too, the darkness of his skin contrasting with the paleness of hers.

"Somehow I knew you would say that."

She can't help but smirk.

They stand there together, not saying a word and watching the sun until it disappeared on the horizon. He heaves a sigh, and Eleanor meets his eyes again.

"We're setting sail again at first light."

"Home?"

"Indeed."

It's difficult to resist the urge to just leave with him.

Charles is not here, he left a little over an hour ago to procure items he claimed they needed, it would be easy enough to just leave the inn with Scott and move to their own ship.

She's certain Flint would take her in.

But if he even suspects a thing about her true intentions for the future of the island, what she really plans on doing once they make it back home, Eleanor knows he won't hesitate to get rid of her.

She likes to think he cares about her, a little. But it wouldn't be enough and she knows it.

Defeated, she shakes her head briefly, averting her eyes to the ocean again.

"I suppose I will be joining you there soon, then."

She finds the Fancy among the other ships in the bay. For some strange reason, her curiosity is suddenly piqued.

"Any news from Bones and Miss Ashe?"

Scott gives her a look of confusion, probably wondering why she even cared enough to ask. But in the end, he wisely decides to just answer the question.

"We will probably only hear from him when we make it back home. He said he would find his way back on his own."

With a deep breath, she lowers her eyes to her hands. The words Abigail said to her a week ago are still ringing in her mind and making her uneasy as hell.

"That girl... Right from the day she was born, she was meant to be nothing more than pretty puppet for a man's delight. Then she suddenly breaks out of that cocoon, grabs a gun and takes the lead of an extremely delicate, dangerous situation. Puts grown men on strings. And she said that I, of all people, was her big inspiration."

" _'Of all people?'_  Isn't putting grown men on strings your favorite pastime?"

A rare, unguarded smile graces her lips and she bumps his shoulder with hers.

"You know what I meant... I always thought I was... rotten. Deep down. And it doesn't bother me, not as long as it means I will get where I need to be. But I just never thought I could inspire a younger girl in... such a good way."

"There  _is_  a lot of good in you. You simply chose not to feed that, but the darkness instead."

A soft breeze blows by, already bringing the chilly night air, and Eleanor hesitates for a moment before closing her eyes and letting her head drop to his shoulder. Walls down, she holds on to his arm, clasping her fingers together just above his left elbow.

What path is he going to take in the upcoming war? Maybe he'll choose to stick by her side again? Would that be too much to hope for?

"I always trusted you, did you know that?  _Truly_. Even if my actions sometimes led you to believe otherwise."

Her eyes are still closed, her head resting on his shoulder, and she feels him heave a sigh. Almost as if her words just hit him in a sore spot and he's sorry about something.

But whatever it is, she knows it's probably nothing to do with her. She knows this is a man who would never betray her trust, never keep anything important from her or act behind her back.

After all, she likes to think he trusts her as well.

His large hand reaches to squeeze her fingers gently, and she doesn't feel the urge to push him away for now.

Yet again, she catches herself smiling at the feelings he brings right to the surface.

Those tender feelings, mixed with a sense of peace, as if she's a child with no worries again. Caroline was the only one who ever managed to make her feel that way, aside from this man. And she  _treasures_  this, even though she knows she'll need to bring her walls back up in just a few short minutes.

It always amazes her; how fucking much he matters. How damn grateful she is for him.

_But perhaps it's only natural._

All these years ago, she was craving a fatherly presence and he was grieving the loss of his daughter.

Mother nature itself took care of creating this bond of theirs.

* * *

_It feels like home._

Walking those narrow, messy streets, dodging the occasional drunkard and the whores waiting just outside the many,  _many_  brothels, Charles feels the comforting certainty that they're finally back in their own world.

It makes him crazy, but even in the middle of all that mess they've just been through, Eleanor was  _still_  one of his main worries.

When they reached Charles Town, and he looked at her sleeping face just as the first lights of dawn began to invade the cabin, he felt guilty. For the first time in her life, Eleanor was far away from home and in the enemies' lair.

And  _he_  was the one who took her there.

But at the same time, he's also so relieved he decided to bring her along on this journey. If things had gone just a little bit differently that night, it could be  _her_  chained down in the bowels of a ship on the way to London right now.

The mere thought sends a shudder down his spine.

He shouldn't care this much. Not anymore. Not after what she tried to do.

Why the hell can't he focus on his anger? It was easy to do so at first, but after he accepted her in his sleeping quarters, it started to become harder with each passing day.

Right now, it's impossible. Because he's burning with excitement at what lies ahead.

There is a brothel just a couple streets away from their inn, and he sees one of the whores nudging her friend, her eyes glued to his face. The other woman turns around and he barely manages to dodge their hands reaching for his arm. One dark look of warning and they immediately back down.

He can see some of his men inside the brothel. Hopefully, they'll obey his orders and keep their mouths shut about the ransom money and Eleanor.

Shifting the heavy satchel from one hand to the other, Charles turns a corner. Shortly after, he looks up at their balcony and stops in his tracks.

At first all he can do is stand there, his jaw dropping a little. There's a palm tree nearby, and he moves in order to hide behind it. Night is falling so it offers him a perfect cover.

From his hiding spot, he watches them,  _her_ , his eyes softening.

She has her head on Scott's shoulder, her eyes closed. She's also holding on to the former slave's arm, and he's utterly amazed.

How strange it is to see her like this.  _Comforting_ , also. In a way.

Deep down, he's actually glad she'll still have Scott.

When they learned about Richard's fate, he was absolutely thrilled. It just felt as if a curse had been lifted.

He'd been wanting to kill that bastard for ages, the only thing that kept him from doing so was the thought of how she would react. She would never forgive him, it would surely be the end of their story, and a rather violent one. He doesn't doubt she'd be out for his blood.

But now she's finally free, and that's not the only source of his happiness.

For what's probably the 20th time today, he thinks about what this turn of events means for them.

He knows very well she's planning on betraying them again, as soon as they make it back home. He knows she wants to stick with her father and follow through with their plans for the future of the island, no matter what her feelings might be.

Hell, she's even trying to blend in already, getting used to wearing those stupid skirts and that damn stay underneath that fancy bodice.

Little does she knows, she'll be met with quite the unpleasant surprise when they reach the island. She'll be caught completely off guard, then she'll be desperate, then that sorrow will morph into anger.

_And with the anger, the blood thirst will come too._

Scott kisses the top of her head, they exchange a few words Charles can't hear all the way from here, and he watches as they leave the balcony, making their way inside the room.

Goddamn it, it will be a fucking mess inside her head... But he knows how it's going to end, and what position she will take once it does.

She may not be one to admit it whenever she's wrong about something, but it would be damn impossible for her to back down and just accept her father's murderers into her home. Let them take it as if it is theirs.

Their island is far too precious to her. He knows she will want to defend it, and he knows she'll be wanting some revenge too. It's going to be a tough ride at first, that's for certain. She'll be so damn hurt and lost, her first reaction won't be pretty.

But once the smoke clears and she's ready to take the next step, he'll be right there waiting for her.

After all, when it comes to keeping civilization away, she knows he's the one for the job.

Now one question remains.

_Will she have him?_

When that familiar figure emerges from the inn, alone, he leaves his hiding spot.

"When do you plan on telling her?" Scott asks as soon as he's close enough to hear his voice. He was already expecting that question.

"When we get home. It'll be impossible to keep it a secret any longer."

"And when will that be?"

Sighing, he looks at the bay. They can hardly see the Fancy from here.

"Well, the repairs will be done in three days. Then we set sail. Another couple of days to get home, depending on the wind."

"Are you absolutely certain he will be out of reach by then?"

"13 days. He'll be too close to the old world. It'll be safe." Scowling to himself, he meets Scott's worried eyes again. "How exactly do you think she's going to react?"

"Badly. And we both know that. My advice is that you act surprised. If she finds out you knew all along-"

"Never lied to her. I've no plans of starting anytime soon."

His lips are a tight line as Scott shakes his head in disapproval.

"Then you better be prepared for her rage."

"Nothing I'm not used to. Besides... It won't last too long. You and I both know she'll declare war against that world, and you know who she's going to seek."

He narrows his eyes before letting out a dry, hollow laugh.

"Did the victory in Charles Town get to your head? Have you forgotten that Flint is now just as spiteful as you? She will seek  _him_ , and you will be the target of her anger just as you always were-"

"Flint is unstable. None of us know what to expect of this new side of him, she's aware of that. No doubt she'll seek his help too, but first and foremost, she will need something familiar. Something that'll make her feel safe... I am the dry land right now. I've been on this side of the war for as long as I can remember. But Flint?" Shrugging, he looks in the direction of the balcony to make sure she wasn't watching them. It's still empty, so she's probably inside their room reading that stupid book. "Flint is a stormy sea. So she will side with me, while studying this new person we have in front of us. When she becomes familiar with that person, once she feels safe enough... She will seek him as well. She's stubborn as fuck, but not at all stupid. I'm a strong ally to have. Especially when it comes to this. She won't throw that away."

Scowl fading a little, Scott watches him in silence for a moment. Probably realizing that yes, everything he just said makes a lot of sense. It doesn't seem to bother him; the fact that Charles is able to read that woman and predict her next moves even better than him.

"I still think perhaps it would be better to keep the truth from her-"

"Why are you so intent on making sure there'll be no fights between her and I in the near future?"

Averting his eyes, Scott sighs heavily to himself. For a few long seconds, he doesn't say a word.

"They will come... Civilization. You know that. It could take years, months or weeks. But they  _will_  come. And when they do, I fear for her safety... I see in you, her best shot at survival. She has the brains but she lacks the strength, which you have plenty of. If I'm ever forced to distance myself from her, it would help me sleep at night if I knew I left her in good hands."

"Distance yourself? The hell do you mean?"

He opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words. It's strange, and Charles feels as if there's something he's hiding. But he soon finds his voice again, and it comes out neutral enough.

"Well, surely you have given it some thought too, at some point in your life... Leaving that damned place behind and never looking back."

Offended by the way he spoke about the island, Charles shakes his head.

"Can't say that I have."

The former slave glances up at the balcony before flashing him a smile, eyes filled with amusement.

"Perfect match, indeed."

Charles can't help but roll his eyes. Even as he silently agrees with the words.

"Where would you even go?"

He's not sure where the question came from, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, Scott becomes completely serious again.

_Interesting._

Just as he's about to turn around and walk inside the inn without another word, Scott speaks again.

"What you did back in Charles Town. And what you did to Low... It made me see you with other eyes."

He takes a single step closer. There is this silent pleading in his eyes.

"I know you never made a point of earning my approval. Even so, you have finally proven yourself worthy. Do not let me down. Do not let  _her_  down."

He actually thinks about answering, for a brief moment. In the end, he just keeps Scott's eyes until the older man decides to walk away, back to the beach.

Cocking an eyebrow at what just took place here, Charles finally makes his way inside the building.

Down here, the place works like a tavern. There are some men from different crews occupying two or three tables and drinking already.

A narrow, squeaky staircase leads up to the second floor, and he walks all the way to the end of the corridor. The door opens and a few servants, who were probably setting up the bath he bought for Eleanor, walk out of their room. Only after the last one leaves - a skinny girl of maybe fifteen who warily looks up at his face as she walks past him - does he walk through the door.

Sure enough, there's a round, wooden bathtub set up in the center of the room. He can see some steam rising from the recently boiled water.

There's also a wardrobe, a small table and a bed large enough to fit both of them comfortably. She's standing right beside it, head slightly bowed, her back turned to him. He closes the door, watching her in silence.

The balcony door is still wide open, welcoming the cool night air. A soft breeze blows on her skirts and he can't help but frown.

She looks so damn beautiful.

But so damn out of her element too.

As much as the stay and bodice favor her figure, he still prefers the belts, the leather, the light blouses and skirts.

_Sure she does too._

Immersed in her stupid book, she doesn't realize he's here with her until he reaches her side. She jumps a little as he half throws, half drops the satchel on the mattress. Their eyes meet briefly, then he's walking around her to sit on the foot of the bed.

.

_Why the **hell**  does this happen every time?_

No matter how absorbed she is by the book and those fancy words, whenever  _he_  comes in, the spell is broken.

_It's unnerving._

Closing the book with a heavy sigh, she lets her right hand rest over the cover. Over the author's surname.

His over egotistical ways are often enough to make her roll her eyes during her reading sessions. But still, his tales, weaved in polished words, are seductive to say the least.

He's well educated, obviously, and it makes her curious. She's not sure if it's in a bad or a good way.

_Last time she felt this curious about a man..._

Her eyes move from the book to the figure sitting on the foot of the bed. He's in the process of pulling his shirt over his head, and as usual, the sight of those scars makes her mouth go dry.

She can still feel all of it. The thrill of novelty, the secret desire she didn't quite understand at first, the urge to give in to the nearly magnetic pull they'd had on each other from the very beginning.

Everything was so  _new_ , so mysterious, so fucking exciting.

_Exhilarating._

She was curious, and she was enraptured, and she was eager.

There was not a hint of fear.

It's different this time. The curiosity she feels about this Woodes Rogers -  _or maybe not this man in particular, but the world he represents_  - brings a huge wave of uncertainty and trepidation crashing over her. It rocks her structures, threatening the familiarity of the shapes of her psyche and reminding her of what she needs to do.

She knows she'll need to change her ways soon, in order to adapt to the world she plans on building with her father, and at first, she thought it would be easy.

Easy enough, at least.

This whole experience seems to have changed her, reaching the depths of her soul and holding everything she'd been meaning to get rid of firmly in place.

The words  _"this is not what I want"_  have been frequent, unwelcome visitors to her mind whenever she thinks about the next steps.

It will be far harder now. If she was stained before, now she feels ruined nearly beyond repair.

_Nearly._

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she delicately sets the book on the bedside table.

Charles is rolling up a cigar and paying her no mind at all, but since he left the satchel right in front of her, it probably means there's something for her inside.

She tentatively begins to rummage through it.

His empty, well worn flask is the first thing she lays eyes on. It reeks of rum no matter how many times one may wash it, which she doubts he ever even thought of doing anyway. Grimacing, she avoids it at all costs.

Among his messy belongings, she soon finds a sheathed dagger.

It's not his. The leather of the sheath is clearly brand new, shiny and clean.

"Dagger's yours." He says, without even looking at her over his shoulder. "We don't know how people around here might react if they find out who you are. So just in case it happens and I'm not nearby..."

She watches as he blows out some smoke.

"Besides, wouldn't want you running around digging mine into random people's throats... Not exactly civilized lady behavior, by the way."

Rolling her eyes at his teasing tone and clenching her jaw, she sets the dagger atop her book.

"I did what I had to do."

Her voice is sour, and she tries not to grimace while bending down slightly to keep rummaging through the satchel. That damn stay does feel uncomfortable as fuck whenever she needs to move like this, sit down, or breath in deep-

Her fingers touch something hard and she raises an eyebrow at the bar of soap. He probably bought it somewhere, especially for her bath. She brings it up to her nose, inhaling the scent of rosemary and detecting a hint of something else too.

_Honey?_

Her heart skips a beat as she steals another glance at him, relieved to see he was still focusing only on his cigar.

_He still remembers her favorite soap recipe?_

Her mother was the one who taught her to love it. A mix of white soap, honey, salt of tartar and distilled water of fumitory.

It made her smell like honey, and after her death, the recipe became Eleanor's favorite. It was the only soap she used to cleanse her skin and hair, whenever she got the chance to bathe. The comforting scent reminded her of Caroline.

And this bastard always seemed to love the result.

She still remembers the night he developed a weird interest for her hair. It had been a tough day - _tough week_  -, they'd drunk a little bit too much in her office and she just happened to have had a bath earlier that day too. The scent of the soap was still clinging to her skin and hair, and she remembers the amusement in his eyes as he twirled the golden curls around his finger.

_"Looks **and**  smells like honey",_ he'd said, words slurred.

That was the night that insufferable little nickname was born.

She hoped he'd be too drunk to remember it the next day, but he did.

_Oh, he did._

Hell, he was even audacious enough to call her  _that_  in front of Jack and Anne once.

She didn't let him touch her for nearly a month. It actually worked wonders.

That little nickname... She hates it with all her strength.

She also hated the little butterflies in her stomach whenever he decided to whisper those two stupid,  _stupid_  words to her in the dead of night, usually with a teasing, amused look on his face.

_Lady Honeypot._

She hated it, yes, but  _something_  about this man, who often came back from the sea covered in blood, whose voice often made people cower in fear... This barbarian of a man, saying such an adorable term of endearment...

Swallowing hard, she pushes those thoughts to the back of her mind and sets the bar of soap aside.

_It was thoughtful of him-_

A coincidence. It could very well be nothing but a coincidence.

When she finds a fucking hairbrush, no doubt recently acquired somewhere around here too, she stares at the back of his head and scoffs quietly in disbelief.

Now he's  _pampering_  her? Does he really think it will be effective? Does he think it will be enough?

As if reading her thoughts, Charles finally looks at her over his shoulder.

"Just wanted you to stop complaining. Most annoying shit in the world."

She sees right through him. And he's probably well aware of that.

The hairbrush provides a very welcome distraction, and she spends the next seven minutes or so carefully trying to untangle all the messy knots in her hair. It's a stressful task, but not nearly as nerve-racking as dealing with him.

Luckily, he just smokes in silence the entire time.

It's a small, comforting relief; being able to run her fingers through her hair again, without getting them stuck in the knots. Satisfied, she heads over to the bathtub.

Not without retrieving the bar of soap from his satchel first.

The heat in this room was stifling when they first got here a few hours ago. And it was nothing she wasn't used to, but as the sun went down, so did the temperature. There's still a soft breeze coming in through the balcony doors, and she finds the night air here is far cooler than back home, for whatever reason.

When she dips her hand in the water, her lips immediately curl into a smile.

"How is it?"

Schooling her features into a more neutral expression, she looks at him over her shoulder. He's still sitting on the foot of the bed, and she notices he's just put the cigar out.

"It's... warm." Her satisfaction is probably obvious in her voice, but she doesn't really mind.

Scowling, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You sure that's healthy? Warm water?"

"Since when do you give a shit about what's healthy and what's not?"

He studies her a little before shrugging and offering her a brief half smirk. She glances down at the water, then back at his face.

"I assume there is no chance I'll have any privacy tonight."

His silence is unnerving, as always, and she notices his eyes trailing down her neck to the bodice, then the skirts, then back to her face.

Rolling her eyes, she turns her back to him and starts working on the strings on the front of the bodice.

It's not like she's uncomfortable. After all, it's nothing he hasn't seen, countless times, before. Still, she'd rather be alone tonight. They've spent the majority of the last 11 days together, since he retrieved her from the brig, and it  _is_  a bit unsettling.

They've never spent so much time in each other's company.

"Any further news? From home?" She asks, trying her best not to let her voice betray her. The heavy skirts drop to the floor, pooling at her feet, and she picks them up before walking around the bathtub to the wardrobe.

"Nothing."

Eleanor folds the fabric carefully, putting the skirts and the bodice inside one of the drawers. For the briefest of moments, she actually considers the idea of asking for his help with the stay.

But then she's reaching behind her back and grimacing at how uncomfortable her arms felt. It takes her a few tries, but when she manages to begin loosening the damn strings, her eyes fall closed on their own accord.

It's actually difficult to bite back the soft moan of pleasure at the feeling.

Filling her lungs and exhaling deeply once, twice, three times, she puts the garment away too.

Maybe she just tightened it too hard, maybe it wasn't supposed to feel like that.

"When can we set sail?"

After pulling the petticoat over her head and untying the ribbon garters, she leans her back to the wardrobe for support and removes the stockings too.

Now wearing nothing but the shift, she closes the distance to the bathtub again. It's placed in front of the bed, just a few feet away from it, so if he stays where he is, he'll have the nicest of views.

"Three days time. Repairs to the sails will be done by then. Meanwhile, I take it you'll like it better here, away from the men, having decent meals and this nice bed. If it'll make you stop whining-"

"Are you staying?" She swallows hard, scowling a little. "... _Here_ , I mean."

He keeps her eyes, not saying a word, until she's about to snap.

"It's in your best interest."

She can't help but scoff, breaking eye contact and finally pulling the shift over her head.

"These people in the streets... If one of my men, or his, ends up drinking too much and revealing your identity, things could get nasty."

"Why's that?" She's raised her voice a little, carefully stepping into the bathtub. His eyes linger on her breasts instead of her face, and she clenches her jaw. She's quick to sit down, the water reaching to her collarbones. Hopefully it'll be enough to ruin his fun. "Are they not the same kind of men we have back home?"

"I recognize a fair amount of them, and God knows how many you've fucked over. For them to come seek life here instead?"

"Whoever they are, they did something to deserve it."

"You're lucky I only saw unfamiliar faces while we were making our way here to the inn. You probably have enemies around here too, and if they find out you're away from your domain..."

He trails off, and she's sure he's mentally kicking himself.

Giving a long explanation like that, instead of just offering her a witty remark. A clear sign that he cares.

That he  _worries_.

Cocking an eyebrow, she shrugs, leaning her head against the edge of the wooden bathtub innocently.

"Do go on."

That all too familiar glint of pure hatred comes to his eyes. He's the one clenching his jaw this time.

"Just keep a goddamn low profile."

With a smirk of triumph, she looks away from his face.

Her eyes fall closed, and she finally allows herself to enjoy the warm water.

* * *

**St. Augustine**

"You can relax." Abigail finally gathers the courage to speak, just as they're turning a corner. He's been tense since the moment they left the inn, and it makes her uneasy to see him like that.

He stops, glancing down at her.

"No one will find out my identity. We are far away from what remains of Charles Town, people here probably have no clue what I look like, or even what my father looked like. Besides, I have spent the last few years in the old world... No one would recognize me anyway."

He exhales slowly, probably realizing she was right.

With a reassuring smile, he continues to lead the way.

Shortly after she was done bathing - and properly dressed again - he came back to their room, making sure to knock before entering. It's one of those good manners she would definitely  _not_  expect from a pirate.

Like sleeping on a pile of hay just so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable, as well as being polite and proper all through their journey, never trying to touch her in any way.

There is so much her father was mistaken about. And thinking of him brings a twinge of pain to her chest, but she's already decided she won't be crying for a while. Her eyes are still puffy, and her head hurts from all those tears.

Mr. Bones (it was the name he gave her, when she insisted on being more formal while addressing him, but she doubts it's the real one) has been so nice, and she wants to cooperate.

Crying like a baby all the time wouldn't be the best way to do so.

He's trying to cheer her up, she's noticed. There was a kind smile on his face when he made it back to their room, asking if she wanted to get out of the claustrophobic cubicle for a while and have dinner at one of the taverns.

Her heart skipped a beat. Often, she wondered what those places looked like, having heard crazy stories from one of the girls back at school.

At the same time, she initially felt like declining the offer.

That was no place for a young lady of her standing.

_What standing?_

The person she was before is no more, after all, so in the end she tried her best to smile while accepting the invitation.

As they weave their way through the busy streets, her eyes take it all in. The town is not as chaotic and scary as she imagines Nassau will be, but it's not like London or Charles Town either.

She sees dubious men everywhere.

They're here, trying to blend in with the citizens, she knows they are. They're all probably re-supplying. But the pirates seem to be discreet around here, careful, as if they know they're not exactly in their territory, and danger might be just around the corner.

Lost in her musings, she makes the mistake of establishing eye contact with one of them. He's stumbling drunkenly, his clothes far from clean. His beard is disheveled, and he has a scar that goes from his forehead to his cheekbone.

As he walks past her, his eyes linger on her bosom. He actually slows down, and she rushes to walk at Mr. Bones' side, bowing her head and feeling her cheeks burn.

_Is **this**  what it will be like in Nassau?_

It'll probably be worse, if she's honest with herself.

_What on **earth** is she doing?_

The decision is made, she has no intentions of going back on it, but she's still terrified. Will she be able to blend in? Or even  _survive_  in that world?

_Try as she might, she's **not** Eleanor._

"Everything alright?" Mr Bones asks, probably noticing her sudden nervousness.

She nods without meeting his eyes, looking over her shoulder instead.

The scary man has disappeared in the crowd, and she lets out a breath of relief.

_No eye contact from now on. Noted._

Before she knows it, they stop and she shyly looks up at the wooden walls looming in front of her.

There are stained glass windows on both sides of the door. She watches as Mr. Bones pushes it open, and her eyes widen a little as a lady walks out.

Her clothes leave  _very little_  to the imagination.

"The ones we have back home are way worse, when it comes to clothing and behavior in general. You better get used to it."

He has a sympathetic smile on his face, and she watches the woman go for a moment before realization dawns on her.

"The ones... Oh. You mean-" Again, her eyes go to the strange woman, then back to Mr. Bones face. She's absolutely certain her cheeks are bright red. "She is..."

She just never thought she would see one of these women with her own eyes.

"A whore? Yes. Now come on, come inside."

He's still holding the door open while she stands there gaping like an idiot, so she clears her throat and composes herself, finally entering the tavern too.

The shock in her eyes immediately gives place to wonder, and for some reason, a soft smile plays on her lips.

The place is busy, and she's not sure what she'd been expecting, but this is far better than anything her mind could have conjured.

Most of the people eating at the tables have far from impeccable manners, everyone is speaking at the same time, loudly, unlike the formal dinners she's used too. This creates a ruckus of voices and laughter, which combined with the mandolins and flutes somehow creates the most harmonic of symphonies.

It's so foreign to her ears, but it makes her feel so comfortable.

There's a fireplace and several oil lanterns hanging on the walls, casting the entire place in a dim glow and creating a cozy atmosphere.

Her jaw is slightly dropped and her eyes are still glinting with curious wonder as Mr. Bones guides her to one of the few vacant tables. There are men playing cards right beside them, and she jumps a little at the string of loud curses coming out their mouths.

Then they're just laughing again.

Mr. Bones seems almost embarrassed when she meets his eyes across the table.

"I take it this is nothing like anything you've seen before, but trust me, you get used to it...  _Eventually_."

His smirk makes her smile. For just a second.

She'd spent the last week preparing for the worst, knowing her father had probably met his demise in that doomed town, and it hurt so much when that bomb finally exploded today. But the fact that she had all these days to prepare probably made the blow way easier.

Still, it's a little hard to smile right now.

He orders them chicken and bread, also some water for her and a mug of ale for himself.

They make small talk here and there while eating, but most of the time, she just stares at the new, colorful world all around her.

By the time they're done eating, he's already on his second mug of ale and her water is gone.

When he asks if she's still thirsty, she shakes her head. But her eyes linger on his mug, and he notices.

"Do you feel like trying it?"

He's offering her that smile again, the one she's just beginning to grow a little bit fond of. She swallows hard, ready to shake her head no.

"No one will judge you for it if you do."

Once, one of the rebellious girls back at school managed to sneak a bottle of wine inside their room. It apparently came from one of the nuns' stashes, and she swore they would not miss it.

They were five girls sharing the room, three of them were of noble birth, and only two were brave enough to actually drink the wine.

She wasn't among them.

The next day, the nuns did notice the absence of that one bottle, and all of the girls were punished. Even the ones who had no idea what happened. But Abigail still remembers the easy laughter escaping the girls' lips that night, the pure glee in their eyes, how each of their movements seemed lighter.

The alcohol seemed to bring them unbridled joy and make their problems fade away.

_Perhaps this is just what she needs right now._

And there are no nuns to punish her this time around.

So she reaches for the mug, and Mr. Bones watches curiously as she brings it to her lips.

* * *

**Tortuga**

Standing in front of the full length mirror, Eleanor smooths out the wrinkles in her skirts.

Her hands travel up her sides as she stares at the reflection she barely recognizes as her own. Touching her waist, she feels the unfamiliar, hard material of the stay underneath the bodice.

She looks good.

Really good, in fact.

_Too bad it doesn't feel good._

Caroline would be so happy if she could see her all grown up, in such fine clothes. She briefly wonders what her father's reaction will be, before harshly reminding herself he'll probably show no recognition at all.

Funny how he never let her forget the mistakes she committed, while also never saying a word of appraisal about her achievements... Except for that one time at the office, shortly before Charles and Flint started trying to kill each other upstairs.

The intensity with which she wants to have that again is enough to scare her to death. It was such a whirlwind of feelings back then, she's still not sure which one was the culprit for bringing those tears to her eyes. But all that matters is that she was strong enough not to let them out. She promised herself, a long time ago, never to cry in front of  _him_  again.

His face comes haunt her again, the tight line of his lips, the ice cold eyes. Once again, she catches herself wondering whether he meant those words back at the office, or if he was just trying to manipulate her.

_It doesn't really matter by now._

Heaving a sigh, she takes another long look at the mirror. At her new clothes, at her loose hair, at the permanent scowl on her face and the nervous glint in her eyes.

Charles left again a couple of hours ago, and she's been taking advantage of this time alone to think.

They'll need to be so very careful. She should probably go seek sanctuary at Underhill's too, first thing. And she doesn't even know whether he'll accept her or not.

Swallowing hard, she looks over her shoulder at Charles' satchel, now forgotten on the bed.

While he and Flint were clashing forces, the strength of the impact between them was enough to shake that entire island, literally. Now the two giants have become brothers in arms, and she's not at all eager to find out what it'll be like.

Scoffing quietly to herself, she closes the distance to the bed.

She always thought that together, these two would be a force to be reckoned with. And she tried so hard to make that happen, to use that force to her advantage, to get what she needed.

Now that it's finally happened they're on opposed sides, her interests differing greatly from theirs.

_Just her luck._

Feeling a headache coming on already, she sits on the bed and hides her face in her hands.

Oh, but she could  _kill_  for a bottle of rum right now...

Voices are drifting up to the corridor and their room already, she can hear the familiar ruckus of laughter, cheering, cursing, pointless conversations, the occasional glass falling to the ground and shattering, and the faint sound of a mandolin.

The beautiful medieval tune does nothing to ease her nerves.

To make things worse, her traitorous body is already responding to the familiarity of those sounds. She feels the urge to go downstairs, take care of everything and entertain guests that aren't even hers.

Doesn't her brain understand that this life is over now?

No more lording over savages, no more screaming at dozens of men, watching them lower their heads and basking in the delicious feeling of  _power_  that always brought her-

_No._

She'll just have to find something else to quench that thirst. She always does.

She always adapts.

The minutes seem to drag by, boredom just starting to become nagging. She's not in the mood for captain Rogers' tales, and she's not ready for sleep either.

Staring at the door, she scowls to herself.

According to Charles, the men he saw in here last night, before going back to the ship, were all from crews they'd never even heard about.

No familiar faces. No one she might have wronged in the past and who might be thirsty for some revenge.

If she felt like going downstairs and joining him for a drink, it would probably be safe.

_**His**  words, not hers._

Now staring at a random spot on the wooden floorboards, she thinks.

The last couple of weeks have been packed with stress, and she's not exactly eager for what's to come in the near future either. She's already planning her next moves, but for now, there is nothing she can really do. Not until they make it back home. So tonight, at this moment in time, she can stay in this room and fume, or try and have some fun.

She's still entitled to that, isn't she?

There is no work for her to handle here. Might as well try and clear her head for a while. Maybe it'll even help her come up with new ideas and plans on how to proceed from now on.

_And really, when was the last time you were able to just have a quiet night drinking and relaxing, simply enjoying the spoils of a tavern?_

Just like that, her mind is made up. She gets to her feet, crossing the distance to the door.

Just as she's about to open it, she looks over her shoulder at the bedside table. The dagger Charles gave her is still right there where she left it, resting atop the book.

Eleanor glances down at her clothing, cursing under her breath.

No belt and leather coats to hide the weapon from view this time.

_The whole civilized lady thing does have its disadvantages, doesn't it?_

Determined not to let this clothing issue deter her, she begins to look around the room. It doesn't take too long before she remembers the ribbon garters tied just above her knees to keep the stockings in place.

Returning to the bed, she takes her shoes off before untying the ribbon garters and deciding to just remove the stockings altogether.

Her legs are revealed as she pulls her skirts up and out of the way, then she's reaching for the dagger.

Luckily, the garters are just long enough for her to tie them around her thigh too. And strong enough to support the weight of the dagger.

She walks around the room for a while, making sure her concealed weapon would not fall with the movement, before smiling to herself and finally walking out the door.

The commotion downstairs becomes clearer and louder with each step she takes. The wooden floorboards creak under her feet, and the dark, narrow corridor nearly makes her uneasy.

But the feeling of the leather sheath against her thigh is reassuring. If she's unlucky to come face to face with an enemy from the past, she wants to be prepared, instead of just backing down and letting Charles defend her.

That episode with Low was embarrassing enough already.

And she'll die before she lets him be her knight in shining armor again.

When she makes it to the staircase, stopping in her tracks, her eyes scan the place. She can't see the entire tavern, but she soon finds a few familiar faces.

Charles is seated at a table in a darkened corner, four of his men are there with him, and she sees the boy as well.

_Jaheim, was it?_

For a moment, her eyes soften.

He looks years younger, laughing without a care in the world, at something one of the men just said. They're all laughing, in fact, and she sees mugs and cards scattered haphazardly across the surface of the table. There are bowls of food too, some empty, others half finished. The boy is eating with enthusiasm, not paying the older men any mind at all.

As if sensing her presence somehow, Charles looks at the top of the staircase. Their eyes meet and his wide smile falters immediately.

She'll never understand the way they seem to communicate without words sometimes. But it's useful right now.

He looks away from her, his narrowed eyes making a quick sweep of the place before returning to her face. The nod of his head lets her know the coast is clear, and she finally descends the staircase.

She does think about just sitting and drinking alone, but it probably wouldn't be too wise, considering the fact she's the only woman in here.

And it's not like she has any coin on her either, so what the fuck.

Heaving a sigh, Eleanor walks all the way to their darkened little corner.

The men all stop talking and laughing as soon as they notice her presence and even the boy stops eating, dark eyes staring up at her for a moment.

She's not intimidated or discouraged in the slightest. Chin raised high and tough scowl firmly in place, she takes the last vacant spot left. Which just happens to be right by his side, of course, but for once, it doesn't annoy her. Better by his side, than near those savages.

Jaheim is already focused on his food again, and he's sharing their bench.

The four other men sit on the bench across the table, and she grimaces involuntarily at the bread crumbs mixing with the grime in their messy beards. Two of them even have small bits of meat stuck in the filthy strands, and she decides to look away before her stomach begins to churn.

There's no fucking way she'll be able to eat anything after the disgusting sight, and judging by Charles' brief chuckle, he's well aware of that.

She watches as he pushes his mug closer to her, grabbing one of the bottles and filling it to the brim.

The smell of rum fills her nostrils and her eyes nearly fall closed. She doesn't hesitate, reaching for the mug and taking a long drink. The burn in her throat is already enough to make her tense muscles relax considerably.

The four animals are still watching her in silence.

"Somethin' wrong here?"

Detecting the hint of warning in Charles' voice, she lowers the mug a little, watching the men over the rim of it.

They share a quick look among themselves. Apparently, they decide they don't want to have their night ruined and she's just not worth it. Just like that, the stupid conversations and rackety laughing begin again as if they'd never even been interrupted.

She sets the mug on the table, meeting his eyes tentatively. He has that half smirk on his face, as if he's happy she's here, and she can't understand what's going on with him.

Ever since that first time he came ashore with Flint, he's been acting differently. His eyes seem lighter, less haunted, and it's as if he's excited about something. She knows him way too well by now, and she notices those little details that give so much away.

_It makes no sense at all._

Sure, things are tense between them right now. Things have been tense throughout the entire journey to Tortuga, in fact.

But it should be far worse.

During their days at sea, after the destruction of Charles Town, she didn't let him touch her. Not once.

The raw, positive emotions she experienced during that last time they slept together were nearly enough to sway her.

It was scary, and it was unacceptable. She knew she couldn't risk it happening again.

It's time to begin cutting those ties already, to prepare for the next steps. So she decided to just shut him out these last few days. Of course, he probably saw right through her. He probably realized what she'd been trying to do, because in fact, he treated her with nothing but coldness too.

But when they dropped anchor, when he came back to the ship after spending hours collecting information with Flint, there was something different.

He was looking at her different, he was so much calmer.

_He was caring._

Perhaps he's just trying to enjoy this time they have together, because he knows she'll turn her back on him all over again as soon as they make it back to the island?

It seems absurd and so not like him. Hell, he basically swore to kill her father if she betrayed him again.

_Shit, that's yet another problem she ended up forgetting about..._

Coming back to the here and now, she realizes she's been keeping eye contact this whole time. And now he's probably aware she's been going through an internal conflict here.

To her surprise, he just offers her a barely perceptible smile.

Not a sarcastic smirk this time. And the look on his face just borders on sympathetic.

_What on **earth**  is wrong with him?_

She's simply unable to shake the feeling he knows something she doesn't. And it's making her insane.

But whatever is going on with him, she supposes she'll never really know.

For the next hour or so, she just keeps to herself, sharing his mug in silence and starting to enjoy the effects of the rum. He doesn't say anything to her either, eventually starting another card game with the men. She watches his every move, identifying each of the cheating tactics she'd become so familiar with in the past.

It seems a tiger never changes its stripes.

They're way too loud, but as the minutes pass, her irritation begins to fade.

Maybe it's the rum.

Maybe it's the familiar environment, soothing her homesickness.

She leans back against the wall just behind their bench, claiming his mug for herself and holding it with both hands on her lap. If he wants it, he can just reach for it. It's much easier for her to drink like this, instead of stretching her arm to retrieve the mug, so fuck him and his comfort.

Sometimes, she closes her eyes, simply enjoying the tranquil feeling that everything is just fine. Her problems seem more and more invisible with each swig, and her limbs are just starting to feel lighter too.

But she's still on alert mode, looking around the place from times to times. One of these times, she could swear she was opening her eyes to her own establishment.

It only awakens her instincts again. Whenever the slightest bit of trouble arises, she tenses up, ready to start yelling at whoever the miscreants are.

Always barely able to remind herself, at the last second, that it's not her place to do so.

But when a fight suddenly erupts right beside their table, it's too much.

Just as she's about to rise from her seat, curses already at the tip of her tongue, Charles' hand shoots down to grip her thigh. She turns her head to look at him, finding his eyes focused on her face now instead of the game.

There's a hint of annoyance swimming around in those blue depths, dark warning prevailing. But she also sees a bit of tenderness, as if he's well aware of her struggle.

Even as his attention returns to the card game, his hand remains on her thigh. Long enough for the heat of his skin to seep through the thick fabric of the skirts, the petticoat and the shift.

She breathes in deep, leaning her back to the wall again and trying to relax.

Jaheim is watching her with those large eyes of his, and she's actually able to bring herself to offer him a brief smile before looking away.

That large hand never leaves her thigh, he just loosens his grip once he's certain she's under control again. The men notice, of course, but they wisely choose to keep their mouths shut.

She can't help but go back to her musings.

Surely they all know their captain is sharing a room with her at the inn upstairs, they all know they'd been sharing a cabin, and will again. They notice he's touching her, and they probably assume he's fucking her every night as well, while it only happened twice during the entire time they've been away from the island.

It will be extra humiliating for him when the time comes for her to betray him again. He'll be made a complete fool to his men. And he probably knows it, which makes his behavior all the more confusing to her.

It's almost as if he thinks she'll actually stay with him, but she's sure he saw all the signs she's been giving. He let her know so, through his own coldness.

Until they reached Tortuga, that is.

And here she is, back to this enigma.

Leaning her head to the wall, she closes her eyes again. Something's going on, and she needs to figure out exactly what it is.

_Now more than ever, she cannot wait to be in Nassau again._

* * *

**St. Augustine**

"...because in fact, I cannot wait to be in Nassau again. I just realized that."

He smiles at the teenager as they walk side by side. She'd been blabbing nonstop, her speech slurring here and there, so he takes advantage of her pause to finally speak too.

"That sounds absurd if you ask me. That place is crazy, on a level you cannot even begin to fathom. The contrast will be huge, considering the safe life you used to lead at school-"

"Exactly! Do you have any idea what it was like? Each and every wall felt cold. It rained... all the time. There were times when I thought I was going to forget what blue skies looked like. I used to dream of tropical islands. Of the heat."

Abigail stops, turning to face the sea and squinting a little. They decided to take a wall along the shore after leaving the tavern, because she didn't feel like going back to the inn yet.

Three mugs of ale was all it took. She's showing all those tell tale signs, and he felt guilty at first. It's the first time she gets drunk, and it's all thanks to him.

But perhaps she needed this. She's smiling now, her eyes seem lighter, and the girl has spoken more this last hour than she has for the entire 7 previous days.

"I never liked the cold. Not in the slightest. It makes me feel as if I am hollow on the inside... I do not know how to explain."

Billy smirks at the words, at her adorable little scowl, and she meets his eyes after a few moments.

"Once we get there... You are going back to captain Flint's crew, right?" He nods, and she mimics the gesture. "I do not want to be an issue. Surely you have countless responsibilities as it is already, and I assure you, I will not be one of them."

He pats her shoulder, her eyes following his hand.

"Don't worry. I'm sure we'll make it work. I'm counting on Miss Barlow's help. She's probably worried about you, and I know she'll have no problem taking you in. She lives away from the town, which means you'll be safe from all the madness. It's perfect."

Her smile falls.

"No. I knew her as Lady Hamilton. But she's dead now... I really do not wish to talk about it, so please..."

His jaw drops slightly, he struggles to find the words to say at first. Whatever happened, it clearly left a deep wound. So he decides to avoid the subject as best as he can.

"Still... Perhaps you could stay at the house. I will discuss the situation with my captain. Something tells me he'll be willing to help us."

He could swear he saw her eyes light up again at the " _us_ ". In the dark, he's barely able to see the sudden blush to her cheeks.

Comfortable silence reigns for a while, and they wordlessly decide it's time to retire for the night.

He leads the way, already sober by now, and making sure to pay close attention to the girl. She's stumbling a bit, and he's ready to prevent her from falling if need be.

"Is this what it's like to be drunk? Feeling like you're going to fly?"

She's in a good mood again, it seems, and when he glances at her, she's staring at the ground and her own moving feet.

"Look. The ground, it's..." She frowns adorably to herself, struggling to find the appropriate words to describe what she's seeing, and failing miserably. "...'walking', too."

He chuckles at that, remembering his own first experience with alcohol, and how the ground seemed to move as he walked. His tolerance was far higher, though.

_Only three mugs of ale..._

Thank God he didn't order rum.

"It feels so funny. I like it." She concludes, much to his amusement.

"Well, let's see how you'll like it in the morning."

"What?"

Deciding not to ruin her fun, Billy just shakes his head dismissively.

When they make it to their room, he watches as she sits on the bed.

"I'll just go look for a servant and ask for a jar of water. You wait here."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Me neither, but trust me. Come morning, it'll be a much different story."

He can't believe it, but she huffs and rolls her eyes playfully. The sight makes him chuckle again, then he's leaving her alone.

Finding one of the servants is a tough quest at this late hour, so he eventually takes it upon himself to head into the inn's kitchen and search the cabinets for a jar.

While retrieving water from the well just outside, he can't stop himself from smiling.

He definitely wasn't expecting that eye roll and that huff of annoyance. She's usually so serious, solemn. Or acting scared. Or curious.

That was a nice change. He finds himself hoping Abigail will be letting him see more of that side of her, in the future.

_Perhaps he's growing a little attached to this kid..._

He promised it would be quick, but in the end, he only makes it back to their room 20 minutes later.

"You sure you're not-" The words die in his throat as he opens the door.

Abigail's asleep, an open book resting on her chest. Her hands are placed over the front and back covers, and she's breathing peacefully.

She probably decided to do some reading while waiting for him, only to end up falling asleep. Another side effect from the ale.

Again, that stupid smile creeps onto his face, completely uninvited.

He carefully closes the door behind him. An oil lantern casts the room in a dim glow, and thanks to that, he's able to see the outfit she'd been wearing, forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Her bodice, her skirts, her stay and petticoat.

Frowning, he looks at her sleeping form again, only now noticing she's in a nightgown.

His chest suddenly feels warmer.

So she finally felt comfortable enough to throw modesty and propriety to the wind. The alcohol may have played a little role in that decision of hers, but deep down, he's aware this is a huge trust sign.

It's not as if the nightgown leaves nothing to the imagination, quite the opposite. The cream colored fabric seems thick, the sleeves reach to her wrists. It also covers her chest completely, as well as part of her neck. The sheets are covering her up to her waist, but he's certain the garment reaches to her feet. And he doesn't see a shift among her discarded clothing, so she's probably still wearing it under her nightgown too.

Still, the idea of sleeping in the same room as a man she's not married to is probably pretty scandalous in her eyes already. And actually doing this in her nightwear?

_If she's going to give him her trust, he **damn well**  intends to honor it._

Carefully, he reaches for her book. She moves her head as he lifts it from her chest, her fingers letting go of it easily.

There is no bedside table so he just puts the book away in her suitcase.

After hesitating for a moment, Billy pulls the sheets higher so they cover her up to her chest. She moves again, frowning a little in her sleep, then relaxing and sighing softly.

And here he is, smiling like an idiot, yet again. There's the strangest urge to brush her hair behind her ear tenderly, but he never gives in to it.

Seeing the kid in such peace brings him peace too, he can't understand why. Perhaps he's simply not as sober as he previously thought.

Finally stepping away from the bed, he retires to his pile of hay. It's not as comfortable as his hammock, but he had worse in the past.

Quiet as possible, he removes his boots before putting out the oil lantern and plunging their little cubicle into complete darkness.

Lying on his back, he can hear Abigail's soft breathing, and it's reassuring. She's here, and she's okay.

She could be dead under a pile of burnt debris, she could be in the clutches of a mad old man.

But she's here.

She's just fine.

_All thanks to him._

* * *

**Tortuga**

If there's one thing he's loving about those stupid clothes, it's gotta be how accentuated her bosom becomes whenever she breathes in. Charles can't keep his eyes off of it as she bangs her fist against the table, cheering her victory and taking a generous swig from his -  _their_  - mug.

Over the last couple of hours she ended up losing the reins and getting way drunker than she probably intended.

He'd seen a drunk Eleanor acting out of character a few times in the past, like that time in the office when she first asked him to stay in bed and hold her the entire night. Or that strange night when Jack and her suddenly became best friends for a few hours, talking enthusiastically about their favorite books. They just happened to be pretty much the same ones. That night, she promptly refused when he tried to lure her to his tent, and he had no choice but be left with his hand while those two talked and talked outside, until dawn came and the effects of the alcohol passed.

So yes, he's definitely seen her acting out of character before.

But he definitely wasn't expecting  _this_.

It started slowly. She began chuckling at some of the men's antics, speaking a little from times to times. He could see she was still disgusted by their appearance and behavior, but it didn't prevent her from sharing a few words with them. She tried to get Jaheim to speak too. All she got from the boy were nods and shakes of his head, so she quickly gave up.

She wasn't sulking anymore.

Soon, she was laughing drunkenly with them.

He could see the joy in her eyes, telling him how much good it did her to be in a familiar environment again.

He was surprised enough by the sudden change in her behavior, but then she decided to join their card game. As his partner, no less. This is why she's moved to sit across the table, and their ability to communicate without words was more useful than ever.

It was amusing to see her use his own cheating tactics from across the table. And of course, they were invincible together.

The men curse all around them as she refills their mug, smiling brightly after the most recent victory. She meets his eyes, he can't help but smile back. There's the strongest complicity between them as she hands him the mug.

Her cheeks are flushed, her hair a mess, and despite how strange it feels to see her in those clothes, she looks a lot like herself in this moment.

_It's heartwarming._

Another hour or so goes by, filled with many other victories, laughter and a vocabulary that was definitely not proper for a respectable, civilized lady.

While watching her, Charles is certain he has that love-struck look on his face. But he doesn't give a damn, and he takes this unique, beautiful moment to heart.

Just as the men are giving up, deciding they were done getting their asses kicked, a new group enters the place.

_At this time, most of the men in this place should be either passed out somewhere, or in the arms of a whore._

He narrows his eyes, studying the newcomers. His heart skips a beat as he sees a captain she'd unceremoniously banished from the island a couple of years ago, when the poor sap decided to underestimate her. He tried to discredit her in front of everyone and she swiftly fought back, yelling pretty much the same words she used to take his ship that fateful night.

He immediately jumps to his feet.

"Stay out of trouble." He says to the men before walking around the table and grabbing her arm.

It annoys the shit out of her and she tries to fight as he drags her up the staircase. Her speech is a bit slurred, but she's pissed.

"I swear if you don't let me go-"

"That was captain Birkin down there." He hisses the words, only obeying and letting go when they're in the middle of the corridor already.

"Who the fuck is captain Birkin?"

"Same one who decided it was a good idea to call you doll incessantly? The one who repeatedly told everyone in that tavern you were supposed to be bearing children and cooking your man's dinner instead of ruling that place? And that he'd gladly be that man?"

She rolls her eyes so hard, he worries they will never go back to normal.

But they do, and she leans her back to the wall. She has to use her arms in order to keep her balance.

"And here I thought he would not last a year."

He scoffs at her, the hint of a smirk on his face. They walk to end of the corridor in silence, the noise from the tavern is drowned out as they enter their room and he closes the door, making sure to lock it too.

_Just in case._

As a few tense minutes go by, she's slowly going back to her previous state of spirit. The wide smile is nowhere to be seen, the complicity filled looks are  _definitely_  gone, and he knows she won't be laughing anytime soon either.

Still, she piqued his interest a lot tonight, much more than she usually does, so he can't help but lean against one of the bedposts and watch her curiously while she removes her bodice and skirts. Then she bends down a little, pulling the hems of the shift and petticoat out of the way.

Another surprise comes when he lets his eyes travel down her legs.

She has the dagger he gave her, having worn the ribbon garters around her thigh to secure it in place, hidden from view.

Absolutely clueless about the effect that just had on him, Eleanor unties the garters, setting the weapon on the bedside table.

He suddenly wants her,  _bad_.

It was the same way when he learned she killed Jenks, when he saw the dead body and that lacerated throat.

Something about her being a killing machine hits him right in a weak spot. Right now, she has him wrapped around her finger.

_And hell, he wants her._

Walking around the bed like a predator, he keeps his eyes trained on the back of her head.

She's reaching behind her back, trying to unlace the stay, but it's a tough quest in her current state.

Her hands freeze as he grabs one of her wrists. He then gently slaps them out of the way, taking it upon himself to free her from that damn thing.

"Should have picked the one that laced up on the front." He says, grimacing at how hard she'd tightened the stay.

"I tried it on, but it was too large. The sleeves weren't the best fit."

Her voice is quiet. His heart clenches a little as he begins to loosen the stay and she fills her lungs.

"I don't think it's even supposed to be that tight... Keep that in mind next time you wear this thing."

His words probably go in through one ear and out the other.

She still has her back to him, her head slightly bowed as she undid the little clasps on the front of the stay. When she's finally free from it, and wearing nothing but the shift after discarding the petticoat too, his self control snaps.

Eleanor tenses up as he brings his hands to her shoulders. Slowly, they slide all the way down to her wrists, then up to her shoulders again, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

The feeling of her warm, soft skin only makes things worse.

Grabbing a handful of the hair just above her nape, Charles pulls her head to the side. Her pale, tempting neck is now in full display and he doesn't think twice before attacking it.

The scent of honey is inebriating. Sadly, he couldn't find soap identical to the one she uses back home, but this is close enough.

Her breath catches as he makes his way down the column of her neck to her left shoulder with eager nips and hot open mouthed kisses, taking his time. It feels as if she's starting to try and bring herself to move away, so he's quick to bring am arm around her waist from behind, effectively trapping her against him, lips never stopping their assault and eventually traveling up her neck again.

Each of the breathy moans she's trying her very best to hold back go straight to his groin. His teeth capture her earlobe briefly before she finally gives in and turns her head. He's able to see the desire in her half lidded eyes for a quick second before she's kissing him desperately.

One of her hands shoots up to grasp at his hair. In turn, he fondles a breast through the thin fabric of the shift for a few moments before letting her turn around.

He soon has her against one of the bedposts, only breaking their kiss in order to let her pull his shirt over his head.

The taste of rum on her tongue drives him wilder, he squeezes her thigh, pulling her leg higher around his hip, always moving closer.

But just as he's abandoning her lips to suck at a pulse point, trying to lift her in his arms and move her to the bed, she utters out the word that makes him freeze.

"No."

It obviously took her a lot of effort, and he pulls away to meet her now wide eyes.

There's this melancholic, nearly frightened look on her face, immediately letting him know what's on her mind.

She doesn't want to lose control again. To feel those feelings that nearly made her change her mind after the victory in Charles Town, and she's also scared this could make things even more painful when the time comes for her to betray him again.

_If only she knew..._

There's a spark of anger in his heart.

Of course he's now even more aware of what her current plans are, and it does make him livid. But he's also thinking ahead and predicting her next moves, after she learns about her father's fate.

By now, he knows it's useless to lie to himself. To believe he'll be able to turn her down when she comes seeking an alliance, her heart broken and her puffy eyes filled with hopelessness.

He'll bend. Even if he gives her a hard time at first, he'll bend. The thirst for revenge and blood mixed with the sadness in those blue green depths will disarm him.

And this just might be the start of a new chapter in their lives. Given the circumstances, and the fact that that bastard won't be around to poison her mind anymore, she might finally let him in completely.

They could finally be invincible together.

They just might actually build a life there together, in the end.

All he'll have to do is give her another chance.

This time, it'll work.

Her confusion is noticeable as he sighs, obeying her and letting go of her leg and waist.

She was probably expecting anger, accusing words. All she gets instead is a soft caress of his fingers, brushing her hair behind her ear and trailing down her cheek to linger on her chin. His thumb strokes her flushed skin, almost lovingly. She swallows hard, never breaking eye contact.

"It'll be alright."

He's not sure why he said it. That hopeless side of him probably just wants to reassure her a bit.

Eleanor reaches behind her back in order to grasp at the bedpost, eyes still wide and glossy with tears she stubbornly refuses to shed.

"How can you even  _say_  that?"

Her tone is quiet, somewhat shaky. She sounds vulnerable, definitely acting out of character again, and his heart clenches for her.

But at the same time there's a calm, delicious sort of happiness taking him over.

She may be drunk, but he knows her well enough to catch the meaning behind that question. Her sadness, mixed with that little hint of fear he sees in her eyes, is due to the fact she believes their story is about to come to a cruel, cold end.

And it actually  _hurts_  her.

So many times he wondered if he ever meant anything to her. So many times he felt inclined to believe she simply did  _not care._

He saw her tears and the look on her face back at the fort that night. He's seeing that very same look again, right now.

And it's enough to chase away any remaining doubts.

That stupid part of him just wants to gather her in his arms and promise that yes, it'll be alright. To tell her that she's free at last, free from one of her biggest demons, and that it'll hurt like a bitch at first but-

_Now's not the time._

Walls coming back up, Eleanor pushes him away. He actually stumbles a bit. She hurriedly puts some distance between them, and he watches as she gets into bed.

"During our short journey back home... I will be taking the other cabin. The one where Miss Ashe slept."

Despite all his high hopes for the future, he can't help but scoff in disdain at her now cold voice.

She's really working hard on cutting the ties already.

Those tender feelings from barely thirty seconds ago are vanishing, anger and resentment speaking louder again.

While making his way over to the oil lantern hanging on the wall near the balcony door, he forces himself to be more realistic.

He's only thinking about the good part of what's to come, a best case scenario, and that is  _anything_  but wise.

_Scott's right._

Her first reaction will be awful, and he should prepare for it. Or their future will be threatened before it even begins.

The chances he'll help her ruin this are huge. When she learns the truth, she'll attack him and he'll respond the same way.

_Perhaps..._

A strange thought occurs so suddenly, just as he's in the process of extinguishing the oil lantern. Darkness claims the room and he just stands there for a moment, frowning to himself.

_Perhaps Max could help?_

Those gentle words and that accent sure as hell go a long way. If she's able to tame even  _Anne_ , then surely...

He just might ask for reinforcements. He just might.

With a heavy sigh, Charles makes his way to the bed, not sure how he manages to find it so easily in the dark. It's also a mystery how in the world he succeeds in removing his pants and boots without tripping in the process.

As he lies down, there's movement from her side of the mattress. She's putting as much distance as she possibly can between them and he rolls his eyes at that, not saying a word.

For the next couple of hours, he just lets his restless mind wander.

So much uncertainty lies ahead, now that he's forced himself to think clearly, but at least he's absolutely certain about three things.

She  _will_  want revenge for her father's death.

The people who'll become the target of her anger will eventually try and take their home from them.

And the two of them will be on the same side of that war.

What exactly does that entail, he cannot truly foretell.

But he damn well hopes it'll include the enticing images and possibilities keeping him awake right now. There are dark times coming. It would help to have something nice in the middle of the madness. The peace of holding her every night before dawn arrived with new, unpredictable battles.

There's still some commotion out there in the streets despite the hour, but all he can really focus on is Eleanor's soft breathing.

She's obviously sound asleep by now, and the scent of honey surrounds him. He turns his head to observe the barely visible outline of her body. The unmistakable curve of her waist and the tempting shape of her hip as she lies on her left side, back turned to him.

Being this close, without being able to reach for her, to quench his thirst, is pure torture. It's been torture for the past seven days. And she was probably well aware of that while falling asleep, unable to care less about the predicament she left him in tonight,  _again_.

Wouldn't surprise him if she fell asleep with a cruel smirk on her face.

Luckily, he still has his hand. His hand, and a very vivid imagination that was more than useful during all those long, lonely nights at sea. His mind would easily conjure the memories of how damn good she felt, the warmth of her skin and her inebriating scent. At least tonight, he doesn't need to imagine that last part.

Still, it's depressing to be forced to resort to such measures.

It'll have to be enough for now.

Trying his best to stay silent and not wake her up, he never takes his eyes off of her, listening intently to the sound of her breathing and focusing on the scent of honey.

His mind does the rest of the work.

For now, it's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually a corset lover/wearer myself, and let me tell you, the struggle is real... My poor Eleanor.
> 
> I'm officially graduating law school, you guys! That means I'll have a lot more time to write again. I'm excited for the next one; I'ts half written already, so it should be here really soon! There will be lots of angst, but a fair amount of sweetness too. Oh, and a very drunk Jack. Gotta love drunk Jack.


End file.
